Everybody Hurts (Thanks R.E.M.)

Pat Fule
Fule for Thought

 

So, I recently went for a check-up, and “Doc” decided he’d be the one to check my blood pressure. After a few minutes of bending and turning my elbow, he asked if I’ve ever had trouble getting a pulse?
“No, but that’s exactly what my wife says!” I replied. Doctors are a tough crowd, and that barely got a smile. I began to think of the lighter side of medical or injury experiences. After all, in times of seriousness, sadly that’s when I search for humour … I guess it’s a coping mechanism.
For the past eight months I’ve been struggling with a thing called “Morton’s Neuroma” which is a thickening around a main nerve in your foot. Unfortunately, mine is in both feet, and it causes a very sharp pin point pain just behind the second toe.
The bottom line is that I haven’t been able to do any “fat boy walking” since April, and my weight and numbers of chins has increased. So, I’ve been receiving injections of a medicine designed to “deaden” the nerve. In fact, my foot doc has given me the maximum seven injections in both feet. At first they were no problem, with little pain of discomfort. On about the fourth week of them, the injection pain really increased.
In fact, just before the first needle, “Foot Doc” would say, “just a little prick,” and I would think “yes, yes, you are.”
However, I never said that out loud because I always knew he had one more needle to give me. And, I must be Canadian, because after both shots, I would thank him. I actually said once, “why do I thank you … I don’t really want those needles!”
On my seventh and last round of shots, the nurse said he was a bit late and still driving to the clinic.
“Hope he’s driving in from Edmonton,” I muttered. Of course she had to tell “Foot Doc” that, because he came in chuckling, “I hear you want me to come from Edmonton!”
Rats, I was foiled again, and I had to brace for the little prick again!
In 1999, the movie “The Green Mile” came out, and I had my own “Last Mile” walking across the field where Sagewood now is. I was off for what I thought was the most major piece of surgery I would ever face, and I think it makes sense that a guy would feel that way. Yes, you 27 readers, I was off for the “Big V”, and I swore on that walk, I could hear neighbours calling from their back yards, “dead man walkin’, we got a dead man walkin’!”
I walked the slowest I’ve ever walked before, but sadly I made it to the hospital on time. The doctor was pretty chipper … I hated that.
I asked him, “please tell me, you got a good night’s sleep last night!? Last thing I need is for you to have shaky hands!”
He laughed, and as he gave me an injection, he said, “now this is going to feel like you’ve just had three or four beers, and I giggled back, “yup, you’re right!”
I don’t even remember the procedure, and I was outside the hospital in no time, laughing as I phoned Deb. On the ride home, I felt amazing, I laughed and giggled, and thought it was “a piece of cake.”
Later in the day, with a frozen bag of peas on me, I laughed no more, just sat with the TV on and moped in pain. Come to think of it, I don’t eat peas much anymore.
Men need to get their prostates checked, and should also begin PSA tests to keep an eye on this gland throughout their adult years. However, the “digital exam” is pretty awkward. I never know how to face this without really cringing. I always wonder what the doc is thinking … is he REALLY paying close attention to my prostate?
Then again, what do you do after that kind of thing? Neither one of us wants to make eye contact, and why were the lights dimmed with Johnny Mathis singing, “Chances Are?”
When I got home from that procedure, Deb asked, “how did it all go?”
I said proudly, “he said I had the smoothest prostate … I’m pretty proud, I must say.” She gave me the same look that I get a lot from Doc!
Even little injuries can be fun, if you have the right attitude. One of my students was handing in her English essay, and she had trouble with the stapler, leaving one sticking out.
“Wait a sec, kiddo … I’m going to get stuck on that staple, I know it,” I said.
“You’ll be fine, Mr. Fule,” she replied, too casually, I thought. So … I did stick my finger trying to take out that staple, and I bled a bit! I made sure I piled on the guilt, too!
The next day, I had her in Band PE class. I quickly wrapped a huge tensor bandage around the same hand, and waited with the class, for her to arrive. Her eyes went like saucers, as she realized I must have a some sort of horrible infection! Don’t worry, I let her off before she cried … you do need to mess with teenagers’ minds, though!
(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)