"Are you OK?"
"Of course, I'm OK. I'm a highly conditioned, well-trained athlete."
But it took me an hour to stand on MLK Day, so I decided to seek medical attention ftom my doctors in Bangor. I started out early enough, but it still took me another hour to get into my jeep. And have you ever tried driving stick shift with back spasms? No picnic. When I could do so safely, I blew off a few red lights, pissing off just about everyone in the slate belt, and they're all packin'.
When forced to stop, my jeep kept stalling as I'd try to put it back in gear. The last time, I was in the middle of a frickin' intersection, about a mile from the doctor's office. Not to worry. I have roadside insurance. But guess what? My damn insurance company was unable to find a tow truck. I dutifully called non emergency Bangor PD, explained the situation, and said I needed to get to the doctor. They told me not to worry my pretty little head. So I abandoned my trusty red jeep, and hobbled through 15 degree weather for the last mile, making it in about an hour.
After the usual three hour wait in the doctor's office, I was finally treated. Here's what I was told.
"You know why you pulled you back?"
"Because some little basard knocked me on my ass?"
"No! Because you're too damn fat!"
And so on. This Jenny Craig disciple let me have it because he's a stick. Fat or not, I could still knock him on his ass with just one good fart.
"You only come to see me when you have a problem."
Does he think I'm his boyfriend?
After getting lectured by a bunch of skinny people, the fat nurses came out and hooked up all these wires along my lower back and ass. Then they started electrocuting me. They twisted this goofy knob and then started asking questions.
Slight twist. "Do you feel that?"
Big twist of the knob. Smoke comes out my ass. How 'bout that?"
"Haaaachheeemama! Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Geez, what is this, Guantanamo Bay? I'm pretty sure there was also an 80' antenna coming out of my ass. Throughout this therapy, I continued having back spasms. But the nurses were having a hoot! While jolts of electricity were shooting up my ass, with smoke everywhere, some police dispatcher called on my cell to tell me I was in big trouble for not having moved my jeep yet. All she could hear on the other end were shrieks of agony.
The torture mercifully over, some dude in a white labcoat gave me prescriptions for anti-inflammatories, Valium, Placebo, blood tests and yelled at me some more. I hobbled back to my jeep (another hour) and was soon joined by one of Bangor's finest. He looked like the Terminator with his shades and closely cropped hair. But he refused to put me out of my misery.
"If you guys shot a pit bull this summer, you could shoot me! I'm a lot nastier! I don't even have rabies shots."
"You're not getting off that easy, O'Hare. Why is smoke coming out of your ass?" I think he was tempted.
So I stood by my jeep (my back hurt too much to try and get in) and waited another hour for the tow truck to come. In the meantime, Arnold sat in his cruiser with all his lights whirling around. If any of you are interested, frostbite's nothing compared to electrodes in your ass. Only a few fingertips have fallen off as I type this little epistle.
Jeepless, I conned a friend to take me to the drugstore to get my much needed medicine. (Getting in her car was another exercise in masochism - back spasms and a sore ass). After an hour wait, I was called to the counter and told my insurance company had changed all my numbers around the first of the year again - how thoughtful of them! - so that my drugs would now cost me $34,678.92. Fortunately, my health insurance company faxed the right numbers right away. Another hour. The new bill? $34,677.92.
Well, I just popped a few of those pills. Worth every penny! My back still hurts like hell, but now at least I don't give a shit. By Wednesday or Thursday, I'll be back with more about our homeless, those wacky kids in Easton, and my secret crush on Bossman Long.
Right now, Im trying to remember where my car was towed.