| May. 14th, 2005 @ 11:00 pm Flashback |
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Current Mood:  uncomfortable
Rather than enter into a long winded description of where I stand at the moment and how I arrived there, I've decided to use the "semi-automatic livejournal updater" to construct a representative post describing my life up to April 1 of this year--the day i had my shoulder operated on for the second time to correct recurrent dislocations (and by recurrent I mean sometimes twice in one day and at least once a week for a period of one year and two months--NOT counting the period of time before the first surgery). Four metal screws in the joint obviously didn't do the trick the first time. Four screws are no match for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.
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Today was really not a day, it should have been cancelled in my opinion.
I got out of bed at 3:00 in the morning to take myself to the ER--I dislocated my shoulder rolling over in bed.
Last night I had to spend an hour and a half putting my leg back in its socket after I dislocated my hip while putting pants on.
I am sick of all of my limbs falling out of their sockets. If my body is no sturdier than a barbie doll's why couldn't I at least have Barbie's figure?
I want to say thanks to my stupid butthole professors for giving me an F in their class even though the reason i missed the final was because I was in the hospital.
Maybe Professor Jack @$$ and Professor Dumb@$$ should try dislocating their shoulder, getting in their car, driving themselves to the hospital, sitting in the ER waiting room for six hours close to passing out from the pain because the triage nurse is a stupid bimbo who thinks an ingrown toenail, an ear infection, and a headache are more critical than a dislocated shoulder, finally being called back only to have four nurses hold them down, two doctors pull on their body one way, and one doctor on top of the bed with them yanking on the arm in the opposite direction, then being told after an hour of testing this medieval torture technique that the arm won't go back in its socket and they need to be pharmaceutically knocked out, then having a reaction to the drugs causing their throat to swell shut and their pulse to pass 180 bpm, getting that reaction under control then having to be breathed for mechanically because the other medication worked too well and made them so unconscious that their bodies were no longer making an effort to breathe, and finally going home twelve hours later drugged up, feeling like they've been beat up or run over by a truck or hit by a meteor or probably all three, and seriously considering amputating their arm.
At what point in this ordeal should I have been filling out your stupid scantron, Professor A$$hole? In the waiting room packed way beyond maximum capacity, where the only place I could find to sit was on the floor near the door, while holding my arm to brace it, while struggling not to pass out so as not to present some drunk scumbag with a golden opportunity to steal my purse or do something worse? Or maybe when the doctor became sweaty and exhausted from pulling on my arm and took a break I should have used my time wisely and filled in a few bubbles. Maybe I should have taken the exam unconscious. . . afer all they were only neuroscience and genetics exams, and if I had really studied the material well enough I wouldn't need to be conscious to be able to answer the questions.
I wasn't released until the day after the final and it was too late to take the exam. Maybe if I took my education more seriously, I wouldn't have gone to the hospital in the first place; I should have showed up and taken the exam instead of dallying in the ER.
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I am still dealing with the academic repurcussions, and, to say the least, I will continue to face the consequences for years to come. Enumerating the specifics will be a bit too painful to do, so suffice it to say that all is not fine and dandy--and i have not even begun to touch on the other parts of my life affected by the shoulder or the myriad of other problems (financial, medical, emotional, you name it) caused by Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and being on my own beginning my freshman year of college. I hope this journal will help me face the facts unflinchingly. The excerpt of the Dorothy Parker poem "A Dream Lies Dead" posted in my first journal entry and in my bio is an apt summary. |
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