And now I can glow in the dark

So we went to the doctors today. Doctors? You ask? Yes, doctors, plural.
First, we went to the pediatrician because it was Evie's 9-month appointment. She is just dandy, weighing in a 15lbs, 11 oz and 27.5 inches long respectively. She is in the 50th percentile for height and the 5th percentile for weight. She is doing just fine in all her developmental milestones and doing all the things she should be doing, and plenty she shouldn't.

After her appointment, we then drove across the street for mine. My arm has doubled in swelling, my hand has become more numb and the pain, well that has just become ridiculous.

Accordingly, we went to my doctor to see about a new game plan. She checked me out, and with a very grave face, determined that things were not progressing well.

In fact, she ordered x-rays and an MRI to be done today, STAT. So I went down for X-rays, the experience of which was most unfriendly. First, they never gave me a lead bib, no I'm probably radioactive now.

They bent my arm one way, and I bit my lip until it bled. They bent it another way and I yelped in operatic tones. Then I sat and waited 20 minutes while they printed the films so that I could take the x-rays back upstairs to my doctor.
Another 20 minutes of waiting and finally she walked me down the hall and showed me how my arm is not broken, (which I could have told her.) But then she showed me how very, very swollen it is, even on the x-ray. I was most unimpressed, since in fact, I could show her the swelling of my arm with the technology of the naked eye.

She wrote me a prescription of vicodin and told me this was no time to be a hero. I agreed that after a week of nothing more than ibuprofen and little sleep, it was time for something stronger, at least for the evenings.

At 5pm I went in for the MRI. This was less than pleasant. I took a vicodin in anticipation of the pain. They got me on the table and while apologizing for what they were about to do, proceeded to take my arm and very slowly straighten it, strap it down and hold it in place with sand bags. SAND BAGS. I was panting, biting my lip, and squeezing my eyes closed. My chin quivered while they took my thumb and rotated it away from my body, putting more sand bags on my wrist to hold it in place. Once all was where it should be, I stared at the ceiling, channeling my "inner Ginny."

They pushed the button and in the long tube I went. She gave me a panic button and told me to try not to move. While I waited for the machine to begin, I heard her over the speaker, "okay Stephanie, this one will only be four minutes long."

After the four minutes passed, she came back over the speaker, she had seen the pictures on the screen and was getting ready to continue for the rest of the hour-long procedure, but before she did so, she said "wow! I know this is really painful, but you are doing great, just hang on there, it will before you know it."

An hour later, I was in agony. It felt like everything was ripping more, and I was squeezing back the tears. For the last 20 minutes of the procedure, I had to keep myself from crying simply to keep myself still. The pain was so immense, I just concentrated on my breathing, and listened to the music they were piping in my headphones.

When she came to reposition me for the next segment (the shoulder part) she said
"wow, your elbow must hurt even worse than your shoulder...sorry it took so long, I needed to take a few extra shots of that ulnar nerve."

I told her that it in fact it did hurt, but it was probably a toss up between the shoulder and elbow pain. She told me again that she was sorry for causing me more pain, and sorry about what she was about to do, she repositioned me and back into the tube I went.

The shoulder part was not nearly as rough, since I pretty much didn't have to move anything, I could just lay there.

When I was done, she looked at me again and commented on how much pain I must be in.

I said "You can't tell me how bad the damage is, can you?"

She said "No, unfortunately, I can't, and you don't want me to, you want the radiologist to, since he had all that school and I'm just a piddly tech."

I responded, "But even a piddly tech knows when they see a big nasty tear, right?"

She smiled at me knowingly, and then said "When are you going to see your doctor?"

I told her, "Not until the results are read and reported back, so we know if surgery needs to be scheduled."

She then said, "You know what? I'm going to write STAT on this, so that the Radiologist will read these tonight and your Dr. will have the report tomorrow morning. You have a baby at home and you need to get this taken care of sooner than later."

With that, she sent me on my way.

So, I can only assume I'll be getting a call tomorrow from my doctor that will be less than pleasant.

In the meantime, I'm taking the big drugs and going to bed, because that MRI was a doozey.