In what only can be described as the cruelest of all jokes, I am going in tomorrow voluntarily to get another needle inserted into my back.
Gruesome details omitted due to our common boredom on the subject, but the cause of all of this tremendous pain 14 months after Amy was born can probably be traced to the botched epidural and subsequent blood patch that has rendered me a hobbit since.
I have tried for respite all of these months with different doctors and medications, but it seems permanent relief may only come from a little steroid cocktail inserted into my hip bone.
To say I am nervous on the eve of another needle would be a vast understatement. I’m terrified, in fact. Not so much for the anticipated pain of the injection (which, believe me, is not exactly soothing) but from allowing anyone with a sharp instrument in the vicinity of my spinal cord. Something I vowed never to do again.
But even a worse fate would be feeling like this for much longer.
(So be nice to me this week, I’m going to be on steroid-induced rage so I cannot be responsible for any reckless behavior.)