it's all about me

Take a shot of healing

Being fifty-something, I’ve survived a few medical events and procedures.

I’ve birthed two babies and had a couple of major knee surgeries. I’ll spare you the mucky details of the others.

Today, I experienced a new one – an autologous injection into my Achilles tendon.

Photo: United Nations http://www.unmultimedia.org

I injured my Achilles ten months ago and it hasn’t repaired despite seemingly endless physio, rest and all manner of care. I knew I would never tick off numbers 1 or 3 (or probably even number 5) on my Bucket List unless I took some positive action.

My best option was an injection of my own blood directly into the tendon – a painful but often effective treatment.

Onward!

Boy Wonder drove me to the clinic, but not before I’d downed a dram (or two) of harden-the-f*ck-up single malt scotch. He wished me luck as nurse Jackie (yes, really) ushered me into the treatment room.

“Now, I hope you know this is going to be uncomfortable,” Jackie offered.

“I’ve birthed two babies. I can do this,” I offered back (quaking in my Birkenstocks).

“You’ll be sore for a few days,” Jackie pushed.

“I’ve had two major knee surgeries,” I countered (scanning the surgical trays for the doctor’s likely weapon of choice).

“I hope you’ve got good veins,” Jackie challenged.

“I have great veins, especially in my right arm,” I boasted (proffering my inner right elbow for her approval).

“We’ll need to use your left arm, actually.”

She had won. I surrendered to the nervous patient role and let her run the show (as it should have been all along.)

She inserted a cannula in my not-so-good left arm and left me alone to wait for the doctor.

He arrived and quickly injected some local anaesthetic into my heel. Ouch!

Nurse Jackie (when did she slip back in?) drew some blood from my not-so-good left arm and handed it to the doctor who began injecting it (the blood) in and around the offending tendon.

Painful? Yes.

Very painful? Yes, but not as bad as I’d been warned.

“I’m injecting some local into it, too,” explained the doc. “That will give you an hour or so to get home and get organised with some painkillers.”

Cripes.

In a few minutes, it was all over. Nurse Jackie was left to slap on a couple of bandaids and I was off:

… back to Boy Wonder in the waiting room

… back home to wait for the inevitable pain to begin

… back home to wait for the healing to begin.

… back home to dream of things Bucket List-y.

Oh, and back home to these gorgeous flowers from My Girl.

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