Good Intentions, Flawed Results
I’m beginning to think that the title of my yet unpublished autobiography should be, “And Then I Nearly Died”. It is a goddamn miracle that I am still alive considering my talents in the area of self-injury. My mother used to tell me that I was “an accident looking for a place to happen” due to my inability to remain upright for extended periods of time, and she was right. I have a long history of falling down in spectacular fashion and usually causing something to bleed and then passing out. The passing out portion is due to the great luck of also have vasovagal syncope. If you think that god doesn’t have a sense of humor, you need look no further than a person who is clumsy and also passes out almost immediately when they are in pain. It’s a laugh hoot for everyone involved. Actually it terrifies the crap out of people but it does make me memorable.
In addition to being a pain in the butt, I have been suffering with an actual pain in the butt for a couple of years now. I’ve been to a few doctors but things have not improved and so I sought more aggressive treatments. I found a local doctor who uses active release therapy and Graston technique to deal with soft tissue injuries and even though I knew it was going to hurt like hell, I decided to go see him. I was wrong, it hurt worse than hell. Luckily he’s got a great sense of humor and knows what he’s putting me through, so he doesn’t seem to mind when I yell “mother f’er” when he’s using graston tools on my hips and thighs.
Even though I have been sore and bruised, things have improved drastically for me in a short period of time so when he told me that he was going to graston my tailbone, I wasn’t too worried. But then he told me that he would also need to work on my hip flexor and that he would have to “get all up in there”. I know, sounds terrifying right? You would think that I would be dreading the pain that was coming my way but instead I was worried about the “all up in there” part of things. I forgot to mention that these techniques are done on your bare skin, so when the doctor said that he was going to get up in there he meant on a bare butt and into my groin area. THAT is what was terrifying me. Because it’s winter here folks and I haven’t even gotten “all up in there” in weeks. My bikini line may have resembled the facial hair of an Amish man, but I’m not going to confirm or deny that statement.
I had about a week before the “all up in there” appointment, which should have given me plenty of time to make an appointment with the only other person besides my hubby that has the privilege of seeing parts of me naked – my waxer. Okay, not exactly a privilege but she is getting paid. But as luck would have it, she was out of town and I procrastinated and so there was nothing left to do but drag out the old razor and have at it. Of course, just to keep things interesting, I chose to complete this task about 15 minutes before I had to leave for my appointment. Obviously nothing could go wrong with this scenario.
As I’m freaking out about how to get done with this task quickly and also trying to estimate if I should start with a machete before the razor, I realize that my 15 minutes is now about 7 1/2 minutes. I tell myself to stop being ridiculous and just take care of business because it’s not like this is some novel concept. I have done this before. Mind you there have been some incidences, but that is another story. Everything is going along as planned and I’m almost done when I take a last swipe at the specific area where I know the doctor is going to be working on and I catch the nail of my pinky finger on the non razor bearing hand and continue the motion. Oh. Shit. I have just sliced my nail and about half-way down my nail bed with the razor… and then I nearly died.
Let’s recap – I have vasovagal syncope so when I am in pain, I pass out. In this circumstance, you would think that the next part of this story would be about someone finding me naked, in a pool of blood, in a cold shower but my fear of being discovered in that condition provided enough adrenaline to prevent a “Psycho”-ish shower scene. I took one look at my finger and bolted out of the shower to find something to cover up the bloody mess and myself in case the adrenaline suddenly wore off. I managed to get my finger wrapped up well enough to contain the bleeding, get myself dressed with my partially groomed nether regions and get to the doctors office on time. And all of that without losing consciousness; it was a Christmas miracle.
Fortunately the doctor was too busy torturing me to care about my grooming habits. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to get “all up in there” either. Now I have to count him among the few , the proud, the people who’ve touched my bikini line. Usually I would be lying there worried about my awkward half groomed womanhood and my bloody finger, but due to the immeasurable pain I was focused on not punching the good doctor in the throat.
All in all, it was a red letter day for me. One day away from my birthday and I didn’t die, which seems to be the one thing I can truly be grateful for in this life. Despite my lack of coordination, planning, and caution, and my penchant for causing myself pain and passing out regularly, I’m still here. There may be other days where the end of this story involves an ambulance or the jaws of life but I will most likely not be conscious for those so I’ve got that going for me.
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