This morning I had an appointment with a spine doctor. Since last fall, I have been having these nagging pains in my neck that have nothing to do with people in my life who fall into that category.
All winter I ignored the pain as best I could until finally I couldn’t. Then I paid a visit to my GP who sent me off for an MRI. The MRI revealed mostly good news — the pain wasn’t imaginary and it wasn’t a tumor but I do have a pinched nerve somewhere along my spine. I was kind of glad to learn that the pain was caused by something because if the MRI had shown nothing then I would have had to suffer Dr. GP trying to explain that concept to me in that overly-calm and even tone that doctors use when talking to crazy people, mad dogs and women. And that reeeeally makes my neck hurt.
Dr. GP referred me to Dr. Spine and so that’s where I found myself this morning.
I was mightily impressed with Dr. Spine’s operation. I was welcomed into his beautifully appointed high tech cruise-ship style lobby. I was offered a beverage of my choice, a plethora of current magazines from which to choose and a computer with internet access. I thought I had died and gone to Starbucks!
Without delay I was shown to a lovely exam room where a steward turned down the bed for me and showed me how to work the mini-bar. No not really. But almost. I was given a gift bag (seriously!) and thanked for choosing Dr. Spine to serve my pinched nerve needs. I was instructed to make myself comfortable and to watch a video that would explain all about Dr. Spine and his philosophy on life and what a great and amazing guy he and his partners are. The steward turned on the video and left the room. In keeping with my high school study habits, I promptly picked up a magazine featuring Heather Locklear on the cover and started flipping through the pages, hoping there wouldn’t be a quiz later.
Since my adventures in cardiology, I figured that I’d probably be waiting for the good doctor for quite some time, so I skipped the “how to have firmer abs in seven days” article and went right for the “Have Better S*x Tonight” article, the one with the picture of the couple where she has her legs playfully wrapped around his head and he’s wearing one of those Mona Lisa smiles. I hadn’t been reading but a minute when Dr. Spine rapped very loudly on the door and scared the life out of me. Startled, I jumped to my feet and the magazine slid out of my lap and onto the floor, open not to the page on abs or even the page with Heather and her gold lamé bikini, but exactly to the page I had been reading. Dr. Spine came in and extended his hand and then looked down to see “Have Better S*x Tonight.”
“Hmph.” He said. And then he bent down and picked up the magazine and handed it to me. And then he gave me the Mona Lisa smile.
I cringed the cringe of all cringes. And in a new medical discovery, I learned that embarrassment will make you forget all about the pain of a pinched nerve.