Alrighty! I have some news on the jacked-up arm. Here's how it all went down:
Pawpaw (The Spouse's Father) came to get me this morning. We started out by eating at The Chick-Fil-A. I call it "The Chick-Fil-A" because that's the super cool way of saying it and because it's the GREATEST CHAIN RESTAURANT IN THE WORLD! Just saying...
I moved on to the radiology place. I walked in with my arm in a cast, ketchup and mayo on my shirt and a smile on my face. They took my information and I was soon escorted back to the luxury suite that houses the gigantic round scanner machine. Everyone was so nice. It helped that I knew the woman who came out to get me.
As I was sitting on the little table she began by asking me a bunch of questions. Here's a sample of the questions:
1. Do you have any allergies?
Me: Yes. I'm allergic to morphine and chocolate. It's a deadly combination.
2. Are you allergic to shell fish, eggs, strawberries, or polk salad?
Me: No, no, no, possibly.
3. Do you have any of the following conditions: high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes, kidney issues, hang nails, toe jam, chronic halitosis?
Me: No, no, no, no, no, yes, possibly.
4. Are you now or have you ever been a member of The Democratic Party?
Me: No comment.
5. When was the last time you had something to eat?
Me: Hmmm...well the ketchup and mayo stain on my shirt are still sticky. I'd say about 30 minutes ago.
Her: You weren't supposed to eat for four hours before this.
Me: Nobody told me that and I ain't giving up this chicken sandwich. We're going to have to work around that little rule.
Her: She just looked at me like my wife does when I do something she considers "Stupid."
Me: Next question, please.
There were no more questions. Let this be a lesson to you all. Take your medical care into your own hands! I had a chicken sandwich, waffle fries and a large iced tea before that scan and I've yet to suffer any side-effects. There're too many rules in this world. I may have just eliminated one for the rest of you.
Once that was out of the way, she said, "Okay, I'm going to have to start an I.V. because the doctor wants some dye injected for a contrast."
Me: "Ummm...hold up. What's this about an I.V.? Dye? I'm not following you right now."
Her: Didn't they tell you they would want to do the dye? You can refuse if you want.
Me: NO ONE told me about an I.V. or dye! We need to think this through for a minute. I'm not sure what to do. Do I need an attorney or something?
Her: It's up to you. Do you want it or not? (She really wasn't mean. She was quite nice about it but that's pretty much what she said. I think, because she knows me, she consulted with my wife before I got there. She was NOT having my foolishness.)
Me: I guess we will go ahead with the dye.
Her: Okay, I'll start the I.V. You're going to feel a little stick. (If you can go to Hell for lying, I know someone whose name got written down in the book today! That sucker hurt!)
Then, this dude comes strolling out of Central Command and says he's going to be the one getting my images for me. He starts looking at my cast and arm and says, "I'm not sure how we're going to get all of you in there." I let that "...all of you..." part slide. This guy is, after all, the dude who's going to be controlling the amount of radiation pouring into my body.
After much discussion and mulling it over, I figured it out! I turned myself so that we could get the view he needed and said, "Turn this puppy on and let me ride!"
I'm pleased to report that "all of me" was able to fit in the tube.
After a bit of watching lights flash and hearing whirling sounds, the machine stopped and the woman came in and said they were getting the results and putting everything together for the first part of the scan.
She came back a bit later and said they were going to begin the scan with the dye. Here's what she told me:
1. I'm going to hook you up to the I.V. now.
2. I'm going to push this dye through and you may feel the following:
a. Warmth spreading through your body.
b. The need to urinate.
c. A metallic taste in your mouth.
3. Here we go. (Like I'm about to get on a ride at the carnival or something.)
So, I'm laying there. I start to feel the warmth going up and down my arm. I'm thinking Okay, this is alright. I kinda like this warm feeling. It's cold in here and this is kinda nice. HEY! What the ....?! I think I just lost control of my bowels! Did I just poop on myself? No, wait a minute. I don't smell anything. I think it's just the warmth of the dye has spread down there. It's kinda nice feeling now that I know I haven't pooped on myself. She said I might need to pee. I don't feel that at all. Maybe I should tell her about the "loss of bowels" feeling. They could write that up and put it in a book or something. That could totally be my claim to fame!
"Okay, we're all done. We'll be getting you out of the machine in a few minutes. Just lay there and keep resting."
Once I got up, I double-checked myself, found that I was, indeed, clean. Score one for me!
I got the little CD, grabbed Pawpaw from the waiting room, and headed to the Ortho Doctor.
We arrived a few minutes early. I brought a few baked goodies for the nurse and the doctor. They had both been so good to me. The nurse, especially, since she totally rocked out getting my scan appointment and doctor appointment just a few hours apart.
I was called after a short wait (bribery DOES work) and placed in a room. I gave them my little CD and started texting The Spouse, my mother, and random people who I think have blocked me. After a short wait, a male nurse type dude comes in and says he's going to remove the cast!
As he's finishing that, the doctor, his nurse and a physical therapist all walk in. (Sounds like the beginning of a nasty joke, doesn't it?) The doctor has this brown bag in his hand and hands it to me. I'm thinking Sweet Lord! He's brought me a prosthetic arm in a brown bag! I KNEW I should have chosen a better insurance company! He's going to cut my freaking arm off and give me this cheap prosthetic in a brown bag...
He says, "I thought you could use this." I open the bag carefully and glance down inside. I'm NOT going to scream if there's a some manequin arm in there! I see green. I see green glass. I see a green glass bottle of Tanqueray Rangpur!!!! This ain't no cheap liquor! Why is he giving me liquor? Is this the anesthesia? Good God! He's going to have me drink this while he "operates" on me! Damn that insurance company!
He then starts offering me suggestions on making lime ice cubes and tells me how the cheaper tonic water is as good as the expensive stuff. We both agree that Diet Tonic Water is one of the worst ideas ever. (I weigh 225lbs. Diet tonic water is NOT a weight loss solution I'm going to consider right now.) Finally, I asked him how he knew Gin and Tonics are my favorite drink and that Tanqueray is my favorite gin. (I swear I'm NOT an alcoholic. Yet.)
His nurse starts laughing and said, "We read your blog!"
I know my mouth hit the floor! I'm seldom at a loss for words, but I was completely and totally stumped and confused. It turns out that my Physical Therapist friend passed my blog along to the nurse and she shared it with the doctor. So, now, I love my doctor. In a Bro-to-Bro kinda way. He's my Bro. He's got my back and I've got his gin.
After much discussion, we decided that the CT scan was absolutely worthless. I endured all of that so I could write this. I'm especially glad I didn't lose bowel control just to find out that the scan was an epic fail because the metal in my arm caused too much something-or-other that made the scan not very good. (I'm getting really good at my medical terminology.)
We also decided that, yes, there is a broken plate in there and that the bone appears to have a break as well. HOWEVER, I'm not in pain and it might just heal up on its own if we keep it imobilized for a few weeks. If I wasn't so manly, I would have leapt up and kissed him! If I'd had three or more gin and tonics in me I would have done it anyway.
So, I have a new REMOVABLE splint! I can shower! I can rinse my arm off! I can be clean!
The Bible says to claim your miracles. Don't ask me where because I don't know. I'm not a Bible scholar. I just write this little blog and sell stuff for a living. I'm claiming mine and rebuking all that talk about possibly having surgery later!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make lime icecubes and make myself a gin and tonic. I'll raise the first sip in a toast to my doctor and his staff.