I had a sneaking suspicion that’s where it was going before it was admitted. I had even told Brandon so, who sat in the corner of the room, clearly glad our positions weren’t reversed. “I won’t lie, it’s going to burn a little.” she told me. Her face seemed to say sorry, but she promised she’d done this before, and that it’d be over before I knew it. At least she’s a woman, I told myself. That made it feel a bit less awkward. “How do you want to take it?” she asked, “you can lean over or lie out flat on the table.” Neither seemed pleasant and I began to regret coming to this place to begin with. Ultimately I figured standing gave me a better opportunity to run, should I need to, and opted for that. “Big poke,” she warned me as she stuck me. “Don’t do that,” she scolded as I tightened my muscles automatically. Then, as soon as it began, it was over, and a silent wave of relief washed over me. Another cherry popped– another first.
So that’s what a Toradol injection feels like…
You’re probably wondering one of two things:
A.) Angela, why the hell would you make such a leading title and start with what clearly sounds like lesbian buttsex, to describe getting a shot in the butt?
Because I can, that’s why. #sorrynotsorry
2.) Why did you get a toradol injection to begin with?
Let’s just say I may or may not have gotten my hand caught in the steering wheel while trying to simultaneously make a left turn and reset my tripometer. My reflex to jerk the wheel to the right to avoid jumping the curb was faster than my pulling back my hand, so there’s that. Mostly I just tell people I got into a knife fight with a bear. It’s easier to explain. By the way, where’s my fucking Oscar?! Whether it’s just a sprain, or a fracture, or nerve damage or a combination of such has yet to be determined. But after an ER visit, two sets of X-rays, and two trips to the doctor’s office, I was finally given something stronger than Motrin for the pain. The fact that I was willing to take it in the butt for a few hours of relief must have been enough to justify prescribing me Tramadol, which sounded eerily similar to what they injected me with, but fortunately it’s taken orally.
GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER!!
It’s kind of textbook Morisette Irony though, that I should suddenly feel a creative streak burning in me, projects galore (sew a meditation pillow, work on my Wizardpunk novel, draw Hannibal [both Mads’ and Hopkins’ version]) and now I can barely sign my name without burning things down.* Even the prospect of masturbating to simply pass the time has been thwarted by my vengeful lady nether-regions. When it rains, it pours, I suppose.
My forseeable future will be spent in this very spot on the couch, icing my hand (15 minutes on, 40 minutes off) in a groggy, gimpy haze. My only viable sources of entertainment alternating between a stack of library books (currently on Nabokov’s Lolita) and Netflix, with the intermittent cat butt hole in my face. Yes, life is grand. I’ve also taken to documenting the “little things” in life that bring me a simple sense of pleasure, seeing as how most activities are out of reach. So far:
- Peanut Butter & Jelly sammiches cut into squares
- That little birrup sound Hobo cat makes when she lands from a jump
- The smell of fresh cut grass
- Swinging with my eyes closed, remembering how we used to play out adventures as kids (We’re walking into a big, spooky mansion…)
- When Brandon goes, “KEANU!!” and I promptly let out a petite and kittenish, “Mew!” (and his ensuing laughter).
Your mind is an amazing thing. When you fill it with positive thoughts, your life will begin to change. What are some of the simple things you enjoy in life? Better yet, what are some books and Netflix series you like? Hook a sister up! Or come help bathe me– that’s proven diffcult…
*I meant to write “without wanting to burn things down” but I think the typo helps replace premeditation with uncontrollable urge, no? You’ll vouch for me, I’m sure.