Category: blog

When you spend the day doing MRIs and CT Scans it is important to make it as positive as possible, which is exactly why Sleepless and I used the opportunity to take amazing photos, enhance our medical knowledge and let everyone working with us believe we are sister wives.

 

As is the case with medical cases, I had to complete medical forms at each appointment and each form required emergency contact information. Sleepless kindly agreed to accompany me to the surgery and, in return, I kindly listed her relationship to me as ‘sister wife.’ We hoped this detail would result in her being better able to get information about my medical situation when I’m under the knife and, prior to the knife, we knew it would make for great conversation.

 

As sister wives do, when they called my name for the MRI, Sleepless stood up. “Do you have any metal plates in your body?” the tech asked Sleepless. “Oh, yes, I have one in my head,” Sleepless answered. The tech asked a few follow-up questions and then said, “You’re welcome to come in the room with us as long as you don’t have any of the items on this list in your body.” “I don’t have any of those things,” Sleepless replied with confidence. “What about shrapnel?” I whispered to her as we walked into the imaging room. “It’s small. Like a sliver. Not a problem,” she whispered back.

 

After the MRI she realized she did, in fact, have one of the other items on the list in her body – an IUD. “I’m so sorry. I feel like it will be my fault if you end up pregnant,” I told her. Rightly so, considering we’re sister wives. Disappointed that they didn’t require me to put on a hospital gown, thus we missed out on a photo opp, we grabbed a scrub top and a gown and scrambled into the locker room for our sister wife photo opp. Just after taking the picture the technician knocked on the (fortunately locked) door and advised, “Your x-rays will be ready in a few minutes.” Even though we were busted we were excited to learn more pictures were coming our way!

After I told Sleepless about my urgent care diagnosis and need to see an orthopedic surgeon she kindly offered to both drive and accompany me to my appointment.

 

Immediately after checking in, and while completing the medical forms, the medical assistant calls my name and one of the other assistants exclaims, “You have to tell me how this happened!” So, in the waiting room, after reading about HIPAA and before going into a private exam room, I disclosed my f’ed up situation.

 

I met with the doctor who also could not wait to hear about my situation, then asked what name I prefer to go by, and sent me down the hall to get x-rays. “They’re pretty excited about your injury,” Sleepless observed. To avoid any negative impacts from the x-ray they had her stand in the office area where she was able to overhear the other medical assistants at work. “There is a lot going on here. They’re getting pre-authorizations and scheduling MRIs, CT Scans and surgery,” she told me. “You can hear all of that?” I asked while posing for my x-ray. “Yes,” she confirmed. “About another patient?” I asked. “No, these are all for you,” she advised. “Shit,” I replied.

 

We returned to the private exam room and giggled when we overheard the doctor in the hallway, “open reduction, inner fixation.” “I really need to start taking notes,” Sleepless said. The doctor entered the room, again asked me what name I prefer to go by, told me, “I’ll probably ask you that again. You’ve got good bone,” and then went to tell us that the open reduction and inner fixation comments were related to my greater tuberosity fracture – something that occurs in less than 2% of proximal humerus fractures and requires surgery.

 

It was at about this time in the appointment that the closed captioning on the TV in the room read, “The scent of females is thick.” Thick it was. This shit just got serious, maybe.

Humans and birds have a couple of things in common – we have bony skeletons, eat meat, have vocal abilities, and come in a variety of colors.

 

Speaking of meat, each Thanksgiving a bunch of American families get together and ‘give thanks’ for, most likely, only having to get together a couple of times a year. In addition to physically getting together, this tradition also typically includes eating a turkey. Most people who partake also put the wishbone – technical term, furcula – aside to dry out so they can break it later for ‘good luck’.

 

The wishbone tradition started years ago in Ancient Italy with the Etruscans, who merely held on to the bones, petted them and made wishes on them. The Romans learned of their customs and, to make the bones go further, would break them driven by the belief that the wish would come true for the person whose hand was holding the bigger piece of the ‘wish’ bone.

 

Being that, based on the x-ray of my shoulder, I am still holding the bigger piece of my ‘wishbone’ while the smaller piece is holding on for dear life, I am hoping that my wish comes true and this totally furcula’ed up situation is soon remedied.

I had a feeling (kind of a throbbing, sharp, unrelenting pain) my arm might be more than sprained or bruised so I drove to the nearest urgent care facility for a professional diagnosis. Within minutes of meeting with the doctor she informed me that my arm was most likely broken. She then stepped outside the room to speak with the radiology technician and I heard her summarizing my medical situation. She closed with, “When I told her that her arm was most likely broken she got really sad.” Hearing her say that made me realize I really need to work on my responses. I wasn’t sad, just disappointed. I had hoped positive thinking would prevent me from having a broken bone.  Here’s a ‘secret’ Rhonda Byrne, I’m pretty positive positive thinking didn’t work this time.

 

After the x-ray she returned with some news, “You are a very stoic woman. Turns out you’ve got a humerus head fracture and need to be seen by an orthopedic surgeon immediately. If you were an older, elderly person we would do nothing, just throw it out, but you’re young so we need to do something. Pain meds?” I respectfully declined the offer for pain medications and hurried home, arm in sling, to research humerus head fracture.

 

As it turns out, this injury is most common among elderly people. In fact, according to U.S. National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health, 70% of humerus head fractures happen to people 60 years and older. So, in addition to not properly diagnosing my situation, I have an injury that frequently occurs in nursing homes. My urgent care doctor was right. I’m sad.

When Beaner and I first arrived in Chicago we stopped in the Sky Club. She was amazed by the fact that it was a self-serve bar. “Chicago, where you serve yourself,” she said then and repeated a few times throughout the trip. The day we headed home we decided to stop and get a sling so that TSA wouldn’t give me any heat about my arm.

 

We purchased the sling and then headed to a bar for one last drink (or two) in the City of the Big (and one broken) Shoulders. As the bartender made us drinks he shared stories of other patrons’ injuries and the lady sitting next to us shared a story about a similar ‘trip’ she took last year. Just like Chicago after the Great Fire of 1871, the lady and the other patrons ‘rebuilt.’  Knowing this gave me hope as Beaner and I hustled to the airport and through TSA in time to stop by the Sky Club one last time.

 

As we walked into the Sky Club I asked Beaner, “Was this the sky club we visited?” “I don’t think so,” she said and added, “It doesn’t look familiar.” Just then then woman at the front desk greeted us, “Welcome, weren’t you two here two days ago?” “Guess it is the same Sky Club,” Beaner observed. We then headed to the back and I, literally, began slingin’ drinks. “Chicago, where you serve yourself,” said Beaner and we toasted to a town we literally blew through, Chicago, The Windy City!

One of the things we learned about YumYummy while on this ‘trip’ is she is not a fan of white vans. “They’re abduction vans,” she informed us. “Have you ever been abducted by one or known someone who has been abducted by one?” I asked. “No, but I still feel this way,” she replied.

 

Thus, when we arrived at Giordano’s and discovered they were closed for a private party, however, were offering a ‘shuttle’ to another location, I was ecstatic. One: My arm was starting to hurt a bit. Two: The shuttle was an extended white van. “Looks like an abduction is in our future,” I told YumYummy as we retrieved our ‘free bottle of wine for the inconvenience’ coupon and boarded the kidnapper van. At the time, I had no idea that my recent injury would result in ‘limited abduction.’ For that, I’ll be needing another bottle (or two) of inconvenience wine.

 

We arrived at the ‘other location’ to find it was only a block or two away from our hotel and we weren’t actually abducted, rather, saved. The pizza and wine was exactly what we needed to finish off our eating and drinking tour for the day.

Ready to crawl the pubs and bars of Chicago, Beaner, YumYummy, her sister and I headed to Cedar Hotel – a defunct hotel turned indoor/outdoor bar – for drinks with a friend of YumYummy. Within minutes we realized we were in a college part of town and we were those ‘old people’ taking the continuing education classes. Our continuing ed consisted of sitting in front of the TV on which everyone’s eyes were glued, joking about who we might date (odds were good but the goods were odd), eating nachos and enjoying some of their classic beverages.

 

Once we finished off the nachos, we ‘checked out’ of the Cedar and started walking down State Street. “Let’s just keep going to bars and having drinkings. In fact, let’s go here, I’ve got to pee,” YumYummy suggested and we walked into Hugo’s Frog Bar & Fish House. After sharing a bottle of wine we butted into the world-famous Billy Goat Tavern for a cheezborger and a beer.

 

I enjoyed a double cheezborger while the other girls enjoyed grilled cheese sandwiches. Sam Sianis would have had a heyday with these ladies. “What is our next stop? Pizza at Giordano’s?” YumYummy asked. “Absolutely!” I reply. Although we were now backtracking, we didn’t care. Eating and drinking was our vacation thing and we were on a roll.

 

As we crossed Ohio Street I turned to point out that we had finally made it back to Rush Street. It was then that our eating and drinking without a care in the world almost came to a quick halt. Excited to be so close to our next destination, Beaner and I had been speaking in Italian (translation: in English, using our arms a lot for ‘accent’), while crossing the street, a few steps ahead of the others. It was then that I took a trip within my trip – just as I finished crossing the street I hit the curb and then hit the ground – face down. Like an inflatable punching bag, I bounced right back up (with the help of a very concerned gentleman). Everyone had the same question, “Are you OK?” I thought I was, but knew I had done something to my arm. I looked at it and couldn’t see any bones sticking out so I put it by my side and asked the ladies, “Does it look like my left arm is hanging lower than my right?” They responded “no,” YumYummy picked up my shoe from the gutter and handed it to me, and we made our way to Giordano’s.

 

As the Italian say, Pan di sudore, miglior sapore – Bread that comes out of sweat (and due to this ‘trip’ I was really starting to sweat), tastes better.

 

Day two in Chicago started as most vacation days do – coffee, brunch, the contemplation of a little hair of the dog. Being that we had gone late night shopping at a nearby Walgreen’s (which was not as nearby as the Walgreen’s kitty corner from our hotel) the night before and purchased a bunch of beer, wine and food that we would probably not consume within the next 36 hours, but gave it a good go, we were a bit wrecked.

 

To recuperate, we opted for an architectural tour and packed a couple of coffee cups and Lime-A-Ritas in our bags for a little afternoon beverage. As we looked everywhere for the sightseeing boat companies we found them right where we least expected them – a block away from our hotel. The tour proved to be both interesting, informational and just what we needed to cleanse our systems and be ready to drink again. As it came to an end, we popped open our Ritas, poured them in the coffee cups and enjoyed the warm Chicago air and the delicious beverage it is.

 

As we walked away from the boat we noticed a man openly drinking a can of beer. “Do you think it is legal to walk around with open containers here?” we all wondered aloud. “It’s OK in Vegas,” Beaner advised. We decided against finding out by having an open container and, instead, asked some officers. “May I ask you a question?” I asked. “You want a picture with us?” one officer replied. “No. Why? Do you want a picture with us?” I quipped. “Maybe,” he replied. “My question is, is it legal to walk around town with an open container?” The picture offering officer looked at my cup and said, “Let me guess, you’ve got some Baileys in your coffee?” “Baileys? No. I wish,” I replied. “Well it isn’t legal. It is against the law. So if you’re going to do it, be discreet,” he advised. “Like me,” a female officer said and held up her clear plastic cup with ice, lime and a clear liquid substance inside it. “Is that vodka?” I asked. “Be discreet,” she replied, smirked and they walked away.

Once Beaner and I finally left the friendly skies and touched the actual ground of Chicago, we somehow managed to maneuver the train system and streets to our hotel. Well, close, anyway. At the parking structure one address away from the hotel, we asked a local, “Where is Hotel Monaco?” “Right there – you just passed it,” he replied. And so became the trend of our weekend – going out of our way to find things that were usually right in front of us.

 

We rolled into the hotel to find YumYummy and her sister deep in the throws of Happy Hour, anxiously awaiting our arrival. We quickly took our bags to our rooms so that we could return to the lobby and have a drink, “It’s been at least 45 minutes since our last drink,” Beaner advised them.

 

As Happy Hour quickly came to an end, we decided to retreat to the room for a quick freshen up before hitting the streets of Chicago. We walked toward the elevator and wished (outloud) that we had been able to enjoy a few more glasses of wine. Sitting on the table across from the elevators were several empty glasses and, among them, two relatively full glasses – one red, one white. I grabbed the glasses and said, “I dare any of us to drink these.”

 

Just then the elevator doors opened and we entered them – eminent domain wine in hand. Two guys, at the hotel for a wedding (we learned this via their loud discussion), staggered into the elevator with us and, upon seeing the wine, expressed disappointment in missing happy hour. “That’s a shame. Here, have these,” I said and then handed them the wines from the table. They excitedly took the glasses of wine, imbibed, and exited to their floor. Beaner then shared some very important information with two other guests who had witnessed the wine exchange with the guys, “That wasn’t even our wine. We found it on the table.” “Hope they weren’t roofied,” YumYummy said. “Better them than us,” I replied. While they might be hitting the floor, we were hitting the streets for more. “Drinking and eating our way across America,” YumYummy said, “It’s what we do best.”

As Beaner and I were sitting in the Sky Club, kicking off our adventure to Chicago and documenting it with photos, she posed a fair question, “Will this trip be reportable or recordable?” Most people who know us would probably put their money on both.

 

We enjoyed our beverages until Beaner noticed her fauxmosa (white wine, orange juice and tonic water – they didn’t have champagne) was causing an allergic reaction. As she puffed on her inhaler an overhead announcement was made, “Final boarding call for Chicago.” Looks like this trip was going to require exercise. We left our allergy-inducing drinks behind and made a run for the gate. Once out in the terminal the ‘final call’ announcements continued. “I must say, I prefer final call to last call,” I told Beaner while I ran ahead and she continued to puff on her inhaler. “Continue to run ahead. Let them know I have asthma,” she replied between gasps.

 

I arrived at the gate, winded but still breathing, and advised the gate agents that Beaner was close behind. Once on the plane, we took our seats and I looked down to find my left boob had bounced out of my bra while running so, though covered, it was looming above my bra. “Oops,” I told Beaner. “Maybe you should have worn a sports bra. As much as you don’t like to exercise, it seems we do a lot of running to the plane when we travel,” she advised, then took another puff.

 

To avoid further asthma, Beaner opted for a different drink on the plane and, to our surprise, the flight attendant comped all of our drinks. Beaner set up her drink, with the allergy medicine next to it, and took a picture. Thus far, the trip is totally recordable.