Needles and Pins

"I'm not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt."
That's not what you want to hear from a medical professional. It hurts bad enough when they tell you it isn't going to hurt, or when they pretend that it's only going to feel like a pinch.
I went for the first arthrogram last Thursday, and it was not my favorite experience. I say first because you can only do one side at a time, apparently the pain from one side being done compromises the other side.
I laid on the x-ray table and stared at the ceiling of fake trees lit from behind as the doctor found and marked out my femoral artery, then used the live feed from the x-ray to guide the smaller needle from the lidocaine, before the larger needle for the lidocaine went deeper into the joint. I lay there staring at the artificial foliage printed on the lighting wondering things like "How hard is driving to work going to be after this?" and "Should I have shaved my legs?" I didn't move as they removed that needle and inserted the giant needle that forced the contrast into the joint, filling it until there was enough separation between my acetabulum and femoral head for them to see the tissues more clearly. I know that it was a giant needle because as it was removed the doctor enthusiastically waved all 5" it in front of me and said "I'm not worried about you passing out because you're already laying down, look how big this is and you didn't even feel it!" He was right. I didn't pass out.
The thing about this is that the doctors congratulate themselves for you being numb while they're in the room, but then they leave and you go across the hall and into the room where the MRI machine is and you have more than an hour in there to let the numbing agent wear off.
There was some concern about my tattoos having been done in Thailand, but I was given an emergency switch in case anything went wrong before being slid all the way into the machine where I stayed while the vault-like door was closed. It was nice to have the thought that my tattoos were possibly prison-quality and could suddenly heat up and try to escape my skin to take my mind off of the idea that I was in a tube slightly larger than my body that blared sounds so loud that the cheap earplugs may as well have been cotton balls. Nothing ever happened, so I supposed they're ok. On the other hand was feeling it by the time I had to get out and stand up. I wasn't a fan of the suggestion of a cane, but by the time I had to be to work I was ready to give in.
I was pretty angry about how long it took me to get up the stairs to our second floor office and I didn't get any faster by the end of the day. I see now why so many elderly people are grumpy, it shouldn't take so long to get around.
It's Monday now and I'm mostly recovered, but there's an odd tip to my walk and I'm still feeling it, not being able to get comfortable when I sleep. My next MRI is this Friday and if I'm lucky I'll be back to good on the this side before I go in.
I can't wait to be done with the anxiety that comes with knowing that pain is coming. I'm not even concerned about the diagnosis because the surgeon seemed to think that these tears are minor, I just want to be finished with the pain and recovery from this so that it can be time for Fall, enjoying San Diegos still summer, and the good feeling that came with moving on from all of the what-ifs.