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October 23, 2003
Ryan, You Have No Faith in Medicine...
Well, I’m vaguely human again. I’m pretty sure the transfusion helped, whereby I replaced all of my blood with orange juice. That seems to have revived my spirits somewhat.
We McGee men are renown for many things, and “hating medicine” is one of them. I have nothing personal against doctors, I just prefer to not see them in their natural habitat. Not one of my favorite things. Right below “getting a shard of glass in the eye”. (Did anyone else find that image in last night’s “Angel” creepy? Just me? OK, moving on.) We just don’t go unless, say, a limb falls off. And even then, we go under protest. “Look, I have another arm, I’ll frickin’ manage…no, I won’t go to the hospital…damnit, fine…”
A typical exchange:
“Look, Ryan, I think we should have that checked out.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re bleeding from your eyes.”
“Look, I’ll just walk it off, leave me alone.”
Two summers ago, I directed a production of “Romeo and Juliet”, during which I developed a rather nasty stye. Wouldn’t have it looked at, though. It didn’t hurt, it just looked narsty. Kept getting bigger, but Opening Night loomed ever closer, and as such, I couldn’t be buggered to see a doctor or even do any of the recommended home remedies recommended to me. Medicine’s for wimps, man.
So Opening Night comes, and it goes smashingly well. We throw an impromptu dance party right afterwards. At some point, I decide that it would be cool to do a hero, rock-star leap from a four-foot tall platform at a crucial part to a Prodigy song. Lo, I land flat-foot, and a pain I’d rather not directly remember shoots through my foot. Can’t for the life of me put pressure on my foot. So, of course, I dance for another two hours then walk twenty minutes home.
The next day, I wake up, and limp to my bed. I gently touch my stye as I look in the mirror, and my eye basically explodes. I call Jenny, who says, “So, shithead, you finally ready to go to the hospital?” “Um, yes.”
This was a big deal for me, as I’ve said. It’s a Sunday morning, and I look like I’ve had the absolute crap kicked out of me. I was even letting Jenny drive my car, in that I only had one useful eye and as such had no depth perception, which as many of you may have noted, comes in handy when driving. We go into the emergency room. The nurse takes one look under my eyelid, looks at me and my good eye, looks back at Jenny, and says, “So, you wanna slap him or should I?”
Yea, yea, I say, I’m a moron. I get that. I get my eye drained, I get diagnoses with plantar fasciitis (which I think is Greek for "white men can't jump"), and get sent on my merry way two hours later with a crutch and an armful of meds. I still managed to be ungrateful for all the help, both towards the nurse and Jenny, because as earlier stated, I’m a McGee, and we don’t trust help of any kind whatsoever when it comes to our health. We know deep down that we should go, that these people have our best interest at hearts (doctors/nurses/friends/family, not HMOs, damnit), but we lack a certain gene that allows us to outwardly show our thanks.
Maybe there’s hope, though. My dad’s been doing well since his surgery a few weeks ago. Even spoke about how he personally liked his doctor. I then asked Mom if she had accidentally brought the wrong man home. As for my brother, well, his trans op went as planned, and he/she’s happy as a clam. He’s trying to decide between Kasia and Katie for his/her new name. (OK, that’s a lie. All you Casey groupies can breathe again.)
I thought I had this thing licked Tuesday, but no, my body decided to show me who was boss and make me progressively sicker Wednesday. Fed up, I sucked it up and bought enough orange juice, Sudafed, and soup to beat the living hell out of this bug. Taking my meds, drinking my juice, slurping my soup. Arrr, a pirate’s life for me!
Luckily the illness came at a time when work is finally not “we need to bring in as many temps as employees just to stay on schedule”. Maybe my body has had this for a while, but my will, which knew I couldn’t get sick, warded it off. Maybe the lack of sleep, thanks to the Red Sox, finally caught up to me. Who knows. Here I is, pajama-clad, sippin’ on gin and juice (sans gin), with my mind on my meds and my meds on my mind. And guess what? Shock of shock, when I do what I’m supposed to, I feel better. What a novel concept. I should really look into this for future illness endeavors.
Hope you’re all feeling better than I do. The lack of lyrical follow-up to this morning’s entry has me a bit word. There was a time when the “Wading Nation” (“Wading Army”? “Wading Corps?” You tell me…) could do a lyrical throwdown the likes of which would make the ‘Net tremble. Verily, say this is still true!
Posted by Ryan McGee at October 23, 2003 02:02 PM
Comments
I generally like and get along well with my doctors... go in for a checkup if something seems hideously amiss (like waking up 30 times a night because I couldn't breathe, which started me on this fun roller coaster which led to my tonsils being removed, my septum straightened and my uvula reshaped on Friday.) Start drinking echinaccea and orange juice like it's going out of style the minute I feel under the weather. Use bandages on open wounds, take antibiotics when told to, that sort of thing.
However, as a Capricorn, I need to actually be experiencing vertigo or to have been knocked unconscious and restrained in order to justify taking a day off from work to myself, which is why this is Day Three back at work though really only Day Two of Able to Eat Some Solid Foods. And I just don't use painkillers, aside from the trusty brand name Suck It Up, Foley. Unfortunately, this means that a single regular strength Tylenol is generally potent enough to knock me out for the duration of the Iraq War. All of this is more of a manifestation of my complete inability to factor my own human weaknesses into account while planning anything rather than a distrust of my doctors. My doctors are good people.
Dentists, however, I'll trust as I will adders fanged. I'm still looking into the possibility that all dentists are in a secret evil brotherhood that's financially sponsored by Luthorcorp.
Posted by: Commander Foley at October 23, 2003 02:26 PM
I think the aversion to physicians/hospitals/etc extends to the female McGhee's. I broke a finger a few years ago and refused medical treatment until it was black from bruising and had swollen to the size of a vienna sausage. It's not that I don't like those in the medical profession, as I have to deal with them quite often in my profession. I just generally can think of something else to do that spend my time sitting in a waiting room. I do go for my yearly checkups, because as a woman, that's just an something I prefer not to mess with.
You know, Commander, my mother is a Capricorn and she takes at least a day off a month. And when she's sick, she stays home. I don't know if her propensity for time off is due to the abundance she has (like 5 or 6 weeks, plus PTO hours) or that she's so close to being able to retire from her company that she doesn't care. So maybe it's not the sign, it's just you.
Posted by: Lori at October 23, 2003 03:50 PM
No it's the sign. Your mother must be on one of the cusps or something. :) My Yahoo! Horoscope for the second day in a row has started off with something like, "All of your professional goals are wonderful, Commander. Good job of accomplishing all that you have in your career! Now, for the love of Christ, why not take some time to give some much needed attention to your personal life?"
Posted by: Commander Foley at October 23, 2003 04:09 PM
No, Mom is Jan. 6, so she's very much a Capricorn. My roommate is a Capricorn too (Dec. 31) and she and my mother are very similar. Quiet and reserved until they know you, devoted to their jobs but not afraid to take a day off. And I am a Libra, and practically the poster child for the sign. My horrorscope always mentions something about my busy social life and making a decision. Although today's really makes me look like a selfish brat. Wait a minute...
Posted by: Lori at October 23, 2003 04:57 PM
in keeping with Ryan's wish for a lyrical montage today, this has been going through my head:
Okay, if knowledge is the key then just show me the lock.
Got the scrawny legs but I move just like Luke Brock,
With speed. I'm agile plus I'm worth your while.
One hundred percent intelligent black child.
My optic presentation sizzles the retina.
How far must I go to gain respect? Um.
Well, it's kind of simple, just remain your own
Or you'll be crazy sad and alone.
Industry rule number four thousand and eighty,
Record company people are shady.
So kids watch your back 'cause I think they smoke crack,
I don't doubt it. Look at how they act.
Off to better things like a hip-hop forum.
Pass me the rock and I'll storm with the crew and ...
Proper. What you say Hammer? Proper.
Rap is not pop, if you call it that then stop.
--- "Check the Rhyme" A Tribe Called Quest
Posted by: Lori at October 23, 2003 05:15 PM
I know what you mean about the fascia. I tore mine recently, but did not go to the doctor until I could not walk. When I went for an MRI, the tech said, "You have a whopping tear!" Oh, thanks. I guess I am due for one. What with the spin/box/run/walk-over-the-59th St-Bridge-to-Queens-during-the-blackout-wearing-flip-flops combo.
And about those doctors. My knee doctor is the head orthopedist for the Yankees. He can't see me until after the World Series...
Posted by: Myra at October 23, 2003 06:21 PM
hey ryan
hope you're feeling better.
i've got some shitty flu-like thing, and man does it suck.
I hope you have a good weekend at least...
Posted by: laura at October 24, 2003 01:23 AM