2/8/14. The post where I remember two random stories from my nerve block.

2/8/14: a pretty good day.  After yesterday's faux ice day, today was sunny with a high of almost 70, so my patient, long-suffering husband and I celebrated with an afternoon at a local outdoor mall.  (Mostly window shopping. Even with my really good insurance, the co-pay on nerve blocks takes a big bite out of our disposable income. Luckily, this is the only time there will be two in one month.)  It was a beautiful afternoon, and it was the most I had walked in nearly six months.  

I'm sore now, but feeling good, at least mentally.  My PT gave me a pep talk yesterday about continuing to move as much as I can, even when I don't feel up to it.  My malfunctioning sympathetic nervous system sees movement as a threat, but the less I move, the more likely it is to overreact when I do move.  A downward spiral I don't want to start.  This is why we do arm and core exercises during PT even though I am not having any issues there.  It's all about not giving in to my whiny, self-absorbed sympathetic nervous system.  

Now that I'm a little further removed from the nerve block, I remember more of the experience.  Two random stories:

1.  The procedure is done using an x-ray to ensure proper placement of the injection.  For that reason, my doctor was wearing, in addition to his scrubs, a very bizarre-looking lead vest and skirt combination.  When I saw it, I suspected I would see a similar costume at the Olympic opening ceremonies.  While there were some interesting costumes last night, I didn't see the x-ray kilt/scrubs combo.  Maybe in four years...

2. Prior to the procedure, I was in a room with multiple chairs that functioned both as a pre-op room and recovery room.  While I was getting an IV prior to the procedure, an elderly gentleman was wheeled into the room.  He was having fairly loud conversations with the nurses, other patients, anyone else who happened by.  As my sedative was beginning to kick in, I suddenly realized he was talking to me.  "Excuse me, ma'am, but what does your shirt say?"  I looked down and realized I was wearing a t-shirt I bought at a breast cancer fundraiser hosted by a winery several years ago, with a pink ribbon and a slightly cheeky statement in large script.  "Um," I said sheepishly, "it says, 'Save second base.'"  "Oh, that's what I thought," he replied, looking at me quizzically.  As I was trying to figure out how I was going to explain it to him, a nurse walked in with some information for him and saved me.  Next time I will select my clothing a little more carefully.