The Cortisone Injection

I had an amazing, relaxing vacation with my best friend from college and her family. I did a lot of lying around and drinking pear sangria. This is a new favorite for me. My friend's husband recently finished his Ph.D. and they threw a party during which they drank this stuff by the gallon. (If you are curious, it is one cup of Grey Goose pear vodka, one cup of Hpnotiq, 750 ml of pino grigio, topped off with lemonade.) Unfortunately, airplane travel was the absolute worst, especially when you add in hauling a 100-pound car seat around. (I have two kids - an eight-year-old and a two-year-old.) By the time we got back on Saturday, 5/31, I could barely walk. I had to stop and rest three times between the airplane and the baggage claim, and I thought I might actually pass out because my hip hurt so bad. At that point, June 5th, the day I was scheduled for my injection, could not come soon enough.

The night before the injection, I worked myself up into a semi-tizzy by staying up late and spending way too much time consulting Dr. Google about cortisone injections. Low stress tolerance is such a curse. Seriously, it's an injection, get over it. I barely slept at all, and furthermore, I am not sure what happened, but somehow the appointment that I actually watched the orthopedist's medical assistant enter into the computer myself did not actually get entered. Or something? I'm just glad I noticed that I didn't have an appointment when I logged onto the patient portal before I drove 20 minutes to the office. To make a long story short, I had to throw a hissy fit to get an appointment. I actually started crying, although I'm not sure if that was apparent on the phone. (Despite the fact that I am often a basket case, I don't actually cry that much. Outwardly I am very stoic, or so people say.) Even though I was far from looking forward to the injection, I reeeeaallly needed some relief from my pain and I had been anticipating this for two weeks. Obviously a torn labrum is not life threatening or even an orthopedic emergency, but the pain was affecting my daily life to the extent that I felt some sense of urgency. While I was dreading the injection itself, I definitely saw it as something that I Had To Do, simply because my current physical state was not acceptable to me, and the injection was the one thing that was offered to me to make things better, aside from surgery.

So after my hissy fit, I went in at 2:45 in the afternoon and was prepared for a long wait. Orthopedists are notorious for running late, and in my experience, appointments late in the day are usually worse. Plus, according to the Internet, the average wait for the doctor who was doing my injection was 30-45 minutes! I was worried that the 50 or so pages I had left in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time wouldn't be enough, but I ended up getting in right away. The doctor must do so many injections he can do one in ten minutes, and that includes the time it takes for me to walk back, pull down my skirt, and cover up with a blanket.

The doctor was fine. He introduced himself as Dr. Crazy-Long-Polish-Name-With-Lots-Of-SZ's-And-CZ's but said, 'You can call me Dr. Joe.' He asked me if I'd ever had an injection before, and when I said no, he briefly explained the procedure. Then he mentioned he had tried to pull up my X-rays but couldn't find them, and asked why I was getting the injection. That made me sort of nervous, but... at least he asked. Dr. Joe then went on to explain that the injection would take 30 seconds and I would feel burning in my leg, and possibly all the way down to my foot; that was normal. While he was explaining it, I sort of felt like 30 seconds wasn't that long. As in... my interpretation of it was, Hey, relax, this will be over in 30 seconds. However, in retrospect, I realize that was a warning - You are going to feel burning in your leg for 30 seconds! After all, think about it, most shots take, what, three seconds? I never really thought about it before, although it did bring back a memory of when I somehow got a gig coaching the synchronized swimming team in grad school. (I know nothing about synchronized swimming.) At shows, the swimmers would ask everyone in the audience to try to hold their breath for a minute, and it makes you realize how long a minute is and how impressive it is when those gals are under water for minutes at a time.

Anyway, Dr. Joe and his assistant got the ultrasound going and he turned the screen toward me and described the parts - however, despite knowing a fair amount of anatomy, I don't understand those ultrasounds. (I never have. I had a very difficult pregnancy with my daughter and had to have an ultrasound every week, yet I never could figure out what all the parts were.) The assistant sprayed cold stuff on my skin and then Dr. Joe plunged the needle in. It was at that point that I realized the significance of the This takes 30 seconds talk. My immediate reaction was to want to scream, but instead I just pulled my hands up to my face and covered my mouth and fake screamed into my hands. My other knee-jerk reaction was that I wanted to pull my leg away from the pain that was going down it, but apparently Dr. Joe is experienced and must have been lying on my leg or something, because I couldn't move it. After what seemed like forever, he said, '20 more seconds' and then after what seemed like forever again, he said, '10 more seconds,' and then... it was done.

Eventually, Dr. Joe said, 'It's done, you can breathe now.' Then added, 'Or scream.' I seriously felt so unprepared for how bad a stupid F-ing injection could hurt, it was sort of embarrassing. Then he said something along the lines of goodbye and I was thinking, OMG I have to sit up and walk out of here?! Then, as if he were reading my mind, he said, 'There's a numbing agent that should kick in in about 30 seconds.'

In the end, I was fine, I was just a little traumatized by how much it actually hurt. And the pain was probably only horrid in that it was like nothing I'd ever felt before - sort of like child birth, only for a fraction of the time. A friend, who had a cortisone shot in her wrist, described it as 'It felt like the needle itself was getting pushed all the way across my wrist.' That's a pretty accurate description, I'd say. But hey, at least it only lasted for 30 seconds! After the appointment, I prayed and prayed and prayed to all sorts of powers I may or may not even believe in, that this would be the cure for me. I also went by the liquor store on the way home and bought a gigantic bottle of wine.