A Tale Of Two Clinics

Well, technically four clinics.

Hi everyone! When you read the story you will see its been a heck of a week. Sadly, its going to get worse. We have to put down our old lady Red Setter, Molly. You know her from my dog stories. At 15 years old she has lots of problems. She can’t hunt anymore because she gets lost. She is unstable when walking and is having difficulty climbing stairs. She can’t see, hear, or breathe. She spends way too much time looking at us confused. We don’t want to wait for something terrible to happen to her. She has been too good girl over the years for that albeit a hard headed good girl that knew her job! A hunting machine who liked to be petted. Here is her last story. https://johnjoconnell.substack.com/p/merry-christmas-241

I’ll do a memorial piece on Molly next week or the week after. She added a lot to our lives as all gun dogs do but take some of it with them when they pass.

As always hit that Like button and let me know what’s on your mind in the comments!

I had an experience this week. I woke up with incredible spiraling pain in my right leg from my hip all the way to my big toe. I had been having trouble with my right SI joint but it was getting much better with chiropractic care until Saturday night. So, a trip to Urgent Care on Sunday was on the agenda. The doc decided it was muscular. I agreed so they gave me pain pills, a major anti-inflammatory and a muscle relaxer. Didn’t even touch it.

After a long sleepless night, which had followed a sleepless night, we decided to call my primary doctor. They didn’t have any openings but wanted to see me later in the week. I know quite a bit about pain. Usually I can bull through it but this was different. I was writhing and could not get comfortable. We even thought about calling an ambulance because we were not sure I could get to the truck on crutches. (Never get rid of crutches by the way. You just never know when you might need them. I got these at the thrift store for $10.00 a year ago.) Kerry got after whoever answered the phone and viola’ they had two appointments in the morning. It was magical.

I toughed it out, gimped out to the truck slowly to avoid the slippery spots with my crutches. Kerry drove me to the office and got a spot close to the door. The doctor’s office is on the third floor of a medical building so Kerry went inside to find a wheelchair because I couldn’t make it to the front door let alone the elevator. The poor woman had to push my carcass to the elevator and then to the registration. We then had to go through the usual 15-minute rigmarole of signing in to a place I have been to many times before and has all my records. Then we were sent to sit for ten minutes. A few moments later the nice registration lady came over to us to say we had missed the ten-minute window. The doctor couldn’t see me. They suggested Urgent Care.

I couldn’t look up from the floor. If I raised my head something terrible would come out of my mouth. Of course, it’s not the nice lady who was refusing to see me. It was the staff who didn’t have the guts to face me and say so.

In our defense let me state that first, we arrived on time. Second, we had to search for a wheelchair. Understand that any movement of my leg made me gasp. I needed a ride. We wasted all kinds of time at registration that we could have wasted when I came out after being seen. Here is the most important part. They didn’t know why I was there. What if I had chest pain along with a tingling down my left arm?  What if I dropped dead after leaving a medical facility to go to another one? I mean Kerry would be rich from the lawsuit while living a fulfilling second life with a younger man but that wouldn’t do me any good, would it?

There was a time, gentle reader, when I would have gone berserk upon finding out I missed a window I didn’t know about. Burning and pillaging would have been on the agenda. You do understand that my Viking crew would have done all the damage while I sat on my throne of skulls (after we attached wheels), rolling around directing them because my freaking leg hurts! 10 out of 10 just like your stupid pain poster says! The nice registration lady would have been spared but all others would know the wrath of the Irish Vikings led by me, Tongs, The Hammer of God. (I love my nick name. When I am elected King someday all shall know my name. The guilty will be afraid.)

Kerry, the Head Medical officer of the family, decided we were going to the ER at the hospital. Ugh, I was not looking forward to this for all the usual reasons no one wants to go to the ER (I refuse to call it the ED. No department should have the same initials as erectile dysfunction unless that’s what they treat). As it turned out we were taken care of with professional efficiency. Doctors and nurses listened to me, didn’t rush me (and they were busy) diagnosed me with a bulging disc between Lumbar 4 and 5. They gave me the right kind of meds, got me an x-ray just in case something was wrong with my hip besides arthritis, had PT look at me and prescribe exercise and gave me a referral to an non- surgical Ortho for next week in case I wasn’t better. Maybe news of my fearsome Viking King reputation had reached them, or maybe they are just good at what they do. I’m going for the latter.

We came home with meds on board, got new prescriptions and I went to bed. Woke up at 3:30am then fell back asleep until 6:00am. I’m hurting, but much better. Kerry has to cook and do things for me. I’m afraid its killing her. Added to the disappointment of no second life with a rich, younger man once again, you can imagine what state of mind she is in.

I told you all that in 670 words to tell you this story.

I was shoeing at my favorite dude ranch, working on a new horse. He was a nice-looking roan gelding that cooperated with me. The wrangler said to just turn him out just outside the back door of the barn when I was done. I led the gelding outside and reached to untie his halter but he spooked a little and stepped away.

“I’m sorry horse,” I murmured. “Did I move too fast?”

I stood stroking his neck for a minute and saw him relax. I stuffed the lead rope into my back pocket as usual to use both hands and untied the halter knot. I’ve always tried to teach horses ground manners. Some will take off as soon as they feel the pressure from their halter being released. That’s dangerous for the human. A horse should stay with you, we call it hooked on, for as long as the human wants them to, halter on or off, for a good reason. We might change our mind and want to take the horse somewhere else or maybe see something that needs attention before the horse is turned out like a cut or scrape. So, I usually loosen the halter but hold the horses nose in the loop and retie, just to reinforce the behavior of hooking on.

As I slid my hand over his neck, the middle finger on my right hand slipped into a loop of his mane. I tried to pull it out as soon as I realized it, but he spooked again and he stepped away tightening the mane loop. My hand was bent over his neck at a severe angle which made me drop the tag end of the halter. I tried to use my left hand under his head to grab the tag end but missed and both halter and lead rope fell to the ground. Now I had no control over the roan’s head.

Anyone could now see the roan was nervous. He knew something was wrong but not what it could be. Horses are sensitive to emotions, touch, and body language and I was sending off bad vibes. Every time I moved he stepped sideways away from me yanking on my finger and bending my wrist farther than it wanted to go. I tried to get to my hoof knife pocket on my chaps but couldn’t reach it. Some other horses over the fence were whinnying and he whinnied back. Probably about the idiot human who won’t let him go. I was in a pickle. Should he have decided to leave, I couldn’t stop him. I liked my finger and wanted to keep it, but how?

Lucky for me, my friend Shane came in at that moment. He was working at the place that summer. He had a keen eye because the first words out of his mouth were,

“Are you hung up?”

“Yeah, by my finger in his mane. Do you see it?”

“Yup. Hold on while I get his halter back on. He looks nervous.”

“You bet he is. So am I.”

Shane carefully slid the halter back on, then got a hold of the lead rope. He pulled a folding knife out of his pocket and cut the mane loop away. I slid my hand back to take a look. It was a beautiful purple color. The middle joint was huge. Fortunately, my wrist felt fine.

“Did you bust it? “Shane asked leaning over my shoulder to look at my rapidly swelling digit.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’ll have to stop at the clinic to see Monroe.”

Doctor Monroe was our local doctor. It seemed like the man was always at the clinic, no matter the time. He was just a good old-fashioned family doc that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.

“I’ve got some tape if you want me to tape your fingers together,” Shane said while inspecting the joint. That was a good idea but awkward for me to do with a my left hand so I let him doctor me.

With my taped-up fingers held in the air and a small ice bag wrapped around it I headed to the clinic. Dr. Monroe was standing in the registration area when I came in. He glanced at my hand and then looked me in the face with one eyebrow raised. I shrugged at his implied question.

“Cheryl, you can hold off on his admission paperwork until after I’m done with him. So, what did you do?” He said to me as he led me back to an examination room while I explained my stupidity.

“Somebody did a nice tape job,” he observed while cutting it all away.

“That was Shane up at the dude ranch.”

“Oh yeah? How is Shane? Can you bend this at all?”

I could bend it some, but Monroe thought an x-ray would be a good idea. It came back clean thank goodness. My fingers have been broken enough over the years. We sat there pondering my hand on the exam table. Monroe pursed his lips while he was thinking then looked up.

“OK. We have a hand specialist who visits us every few weeks. I can splint this and have you seen by him. I think you popped the joint capsule. Its not my specialty but I believe they can fix it surgically.”

All I saw were dollar signs swimming around us.

“That’s going to cost me, yes?”

“I’m afraid so. Your insurance won’t cover it.”

“Got another option?”

“Sure, we splint it, you try to be careful. I think you can swing a hammer while keeping it out of the way. It will heal but you will probably lose range of motion and it will always look ugly but most likely not hurt much until you are older.”

“I see.” I sat there staring at my purple digit. Then gave him my best dead pan, “so, you are saying my dream of being a hand model is dead, right?”

I wish I had a picture of his face. First there was confusion followed by a moment of concern, (like maybe I was serious) then he got it.

“You are such a wise ass., Monroe roared with laughter. “Yes, find a new dream! Perhaps you should consider being a comedian.”

Taped up with a prescription for pain and inflammation, I stopped at the drug store then headed home. I found it a little amusing to perpetually flip everyone off with my splinted middle finger sticking out as I drove.

Dr. Monroe was right. I was able to work. My knuckle healed. It is ugly. He was wrong however about pain and range of motion. I can bend it all the way. It’s never given me a problem even though I’m old, as Kerry keeps reminding me.

Maybe my hand modeling career could have taken off.

You won’t believe this. I just got a phone call that I let go to voice mail. It was my primary doctor’s office wanting to know how everything went yesterday. I didn’t tell you that while sitting in the ER I got a text asking me for a review on my primary doctor’s care for me. I sighed upon reading it. Kerry, reading over my shoulder, snatched my phone to reply. She was not rude. Just truthful. We would never recommend them to anyone. I’m going to find another primary physician at the rival hospital in town. Apparently, they didn’t get around to reading the review until today. Kerry must have missed the reply window….again.