OH MY GOD.
Since I was a child, I have tended to, and continue to, make a bigger deal about things that don't matter and a teeny tiny deal about things that do matter. Since I'm asthmatic, anything related to breathing, lungs, bronchi, or even coughing is cause for alarm. It was ingrained in me early and stays with me still. The moment I get a tickle in my throat, I constantly think I've got pneumonia or, at the very least, bronchitis.
On the contrary, when I am afflicted with any other physical ailment, I think practically nothing of it. Hence the putting off of the searing hip pain for nearly 6 weeks.
After calling in sick today and turning down an offer to go to Gangnam for Mexican (it must be really bad if I turn down Mexican food), I decided to saunter on down to the orthopeadic clinic on the second floor of my building. I literally sauntered. Why hurry, right? There's nothing wrong...I'm just checking things out. After a brief meeting with the doctor who turned out to also be Matt's neighbour, I was told I needed some x-rays to rule out any bone injury.
The man who had been coughing without covering his mouth the entire time I sat in the waiting room, eying him, disgusted, was my x-ray tech. Charming.
You've waited long enough...I have two herniated discs: L4 and 5. From what the doctor told me, the intervertebral discs have slipped back towards my spine, decreasing the distance between the discs down in the lumbar region, where they are usually spaced rather far apart. The good news (because there is any?!): there is no decreased sensitivity, so I haven't injured a nerve at this point. Had I left it, say, 7 weeks instead of a measly 6, I might have hurt myself more.
The treatment? Well, for starters, the doc wanted me in traction 24 hours a day for four weeks. Come again? Sensing that I thought that was a tad unrealistic, he changed his tune: I'd come for physio every day for four weeks, and sit in the traction machine for at least 30 minutes each day. Right. Though this is much better, are you SH*TTING me?
Note: they have to pull my spine apart slightly, more or less, so that the disc slips back to where it's supposed to be. It's compressed now and it needs to be stretched out...not that scary, right?
He also prescribed some pain meds that would render me useless at work, leading to my diminished capacity so much so that I'd need to utilize all the 8 sick days I have left. Silver lining, friends.
Here I am after hearing the shocking news..."Alexis, you've herniated a disc. No...two discs."
"You should be in traction all day, everyday, for 28 days."
And here is what I did for two hours today: read Matt's book about America and attempted to explain via text what a herniated disc was to Black Dress.
This is the traction machine. Looks like an ancient Asian torture device, non? Two bands wrap around the body with belts: one around my chest down to my stomach, and the other around my lower back. The belts are then attached to bars, which are pulled in opposite directions, lengthening my spine. This happens in short intervals of stretching then relaxing.
It wasn't supposed to hurt: it did. It felt like a strong, dull ache all down my back...not at all pleasant. But it didn't feel nearly as brutal as I thought it would. This goes on for what feels like an eternity, but is only really about 30 minutes.
(and no, this woman was not aware that I was taking her picture.
No, I feel no remorse.)
No, I feel no remorse.)
The rolling massage nook is next. The sound of birds chirping is coupled with the sound of a babbling brook up near my head. Huge rollers go up and down my back, massaging the whole way. It was pretty wicked. Oh, I guess I should clarify: it was wicked in a good way, since everything else in this torture dungeon was wicked in an entirely other way.
And last but certainly not least: air compression therapy. These little suckers blow up like blood pressure cuffs around my legs, moving up and down from the foot to the thigh. Not at all pleasant, but, admittedly, not entirely unpleasant either.
So as it turns out, this is what I'll be doing for my remaining time in Korea. How did this happen, you ask? Probably running. Probably we have no idea. The long and the short of it is this: I can do anything I want if there is no pain.
"Since", the doc laughed, "there is constant pain, I guess you can't do anything."
Wow.
Dexter is going to get old real fast.
