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I have been able to sit up to the edge to the bed on my own, and they are teaching my how to basically throw myself into a wheelchair. Woo woo time to party!
Well, I cant move my right leg. This is making the process of trying to get my totally non-functional muscles back into shape. The good part is that I cant feel anything in it at all so there isn’t any pain. This chick I knew once had this really cool Japanese style tattoo of a crashing wave running down from her waist to her ankle. Now would be the time for me to get that work done. (/hi squid!)
They want me to do this nerve induction, hooseywagger test to see whats really up with it. It isn’t uncommon for coma patients (and those who are kept chemically paralyzed for months) to crush nerves from sitting on them too long in one spot.
This would be bad as it takes months for a nerve to grow even 1 centimeter they tell me, if at all. But really the only way to find out why my leg is totally dead is this nerve something or other test.
They wont tell me too much about it, so I have to assume its bad. And it is. They threw me on a gurney and rolled me around a few floors till we got to the test office which consisted of a tiny bed against a wall and a chair for someone to sit at it. They had what looked like a polygraph test on the end of the bed with it spewing paper out and little pens wooshing around making graphs.
It seemed harmless enough so I agreed to do it. My 1st clue should have been that they made me sign a consent form. I signed it.
Lets think about that for a second, now… since obviously I didn’t then. They felt it was ok to fucking drill 8 holes in my neck and chest, jack me up on all sorts of crazy drugs etc, without asking, and NOW THEY WANT A SIGNATURE ON A CONSENT FORM!??!!
Obviously I was still going through Morphine to Methadone transformations, or I never would have agreed to this. And once they break out the “instruments” I start screaming for a lawyer to get that consent form back.
This is a medieval test. This is where they take TWO ENORMOUS NEEDLES and they jam one into you at one spot and the other into you at another close spot and zap you with high voltage shocks and ask you if you can feel it to test which nerves are working and which ones are dead.
I think through the pain I started laughing that the sum total of our medical knowledge on the subject on nerve regeneration is reduced to…. “Hey Bevis, light em up! If he screams that means its wurkin!!”
I have had a lot of time to reflect on various forms of torture and this constant cooking of my leg, while bad, really doesn’t come close to constant drowning or the psychological torture of massive amounts of hallucinogenic + christmas music for weeks. In case the CIA is taking notes figured id share that.
To sum it up, pain is for pussies.
Not to try to say I wasn’t crying like a six year old by the time they were half done though. They found the few nerves which had rendered my quad muscles inactive and though they wanted to keep stabbing and shocking me the whole way down I convinced them to stop.
Well, I cant move my right leg. This is making the process of trying to get my totally non-functional muscles back into shape. The good part is that I cant feel anything in it at all so there isn’t any pain. This chick I knew once had this really cool Japanese style tattoo of a crashing wave running down from her waist to her ankle. Now would be the time for me to get that work done. (/hi squid!)
They want me to do this nerve induction, hooseywagger test to see whats really up with it. It isn’t uncommon for coma patients (and those who are kept chemically paralyzed for months) to crush nerves from sitting on them too long in one spot.
This would be bad as it takes months for a nerve to grow even 1 centimeter they tell me, if at all. But really the only way to find out why my leg is totally dead is this nerve something or other test.
They wont tell me too much about it, so I have to assume its bad. And it is. They threw me on a gurney and rolled me around a few floors till we got to the test office which consisted of a tiny bed against a wall and a chair for someone to sit at it. They had what looked like a polygraph test on the end of the bed with it spewing paper out and little pens wooshing around making graphs.
It seemed harmless enough so I agreed to do it. My 1st clue should have been that they made me sign a consent form. I signed it.
Lets think about that for a second, now… since obviously I didn’t then. They felt it was ok to fucking drill 8 holes in my neck and chest, jack me up on all sorts of crazy drugs etc, without asking, and NOW THEY WANT A SIGNATURE ON A CONSENT FORM!??!!
Obviously I was still going through Morphine to Methadone transformations, or I never would have agreed to this. And once they break out the “instruments” I start screaming for a lawyer to get that consent form back.
This is a medieval test. This is where they take TWO ENORMOUS NEEDLES and they jam one into you at one spot and the other into you at another close spot and zap you with high voltage shocks and ask you if you can feel it to test which nerves are working and which ones are dead.
I think through the pain I started laughing that the sum total of our medical knowledge on the subject on nerve regeneration is reduced to…. “Hey Bevis, light em up! If he screams that means its wurkin!!”
I have had a lot of time to reflect on various forms of torture and this constant cooking of my leg, while bad, really doesn’t come close to constant drowning or the psychological torture of massive amounts of hallucinogenic + christmas music for weeks. In case the CIA is taking notes figured id share that.
To sum it up, pain is for pussies.
Not to try to say I wasn’t crying like a six year old by the time they were half done though. They found the few nerves which had rendered my quad muscles inactive and though they wanted to keep stabbing and shocking me the whole way down I convinced them to stop.