Nashville Knucklehead

Knocked Up

I first found Katie when she linked to a post I wrote that included Ratt, Kevin Bacon, a Pontiac Fiero and a Playboy centerfold. I wrote it as an excuse to put up a naked picture of an old girlfriend, but Katie actually praised the writing. And she writes for a living and gets books published and has won like 28 Pulitzers and had an audience with the Pope because of her writing. Or that's how I like to think about her. Because she praised my writing. And she praised the story with the gratuitous nudity, instead of being put off by it.

Well, I go check on her every once in a while, and in the ensuing time, she's met her a fella, fallen in love, got hitched and now they're having a young 'un. And she plans on doing it drug free. She says she had a bad reaction to the epidural during her last birth that caused back pain for years.

Back pain and epidurals. A couple of subjects I am familiar with. You see, kids, many years ago I had gone to an impoverished third world country to pass out hand copied bibles to homeless people when a car came careening around the corner and crashed onto the curb right in front of me. I ran to the driver's door and saw that the nun who was driving had suffered a heart attack. After reviving her with the homemade defribrillator I had invented that morning, I noticed that there was a Golden Retriever puppy trapped under the front tire. My adrenaline got the best of me and I lifted the car with one arm and scooped the puppy up with the other. I pulled out my pocket knife and roll of duct tape and quickly performed surgery on the little pup, stopping the internal bleeding, thereby allowing the little fella to live a long and happy life as a seeing eye dog for Ronnie Milsap. It wasn't until later, while I was on the podium politely declining the virgin being offered by the grateful village elder ("Shucks, Your Excellency, I just did what anyone would have done") that I realized I had thrown out my back.

I've had back problems on and off ever since. About ten years ago, I decided to try an M.D. for the second time. I had usually stuck with chiropractors for two reasons. One, despite the voodoo aspect of cracking your back for whatever ails you, they always worked for me, and two, the first time I went to an M.D., he started talking about surgery within five minutes of shaking my hand. I don't want some dude who probably graduated last in his medical school class cutting open my back and poking around my spine.

So this second time around, the doc put me in the magic machine that looks at your inside stuff and declared me to have a bulging disk. Probably. Or it could be a shadow on the film. But he was pretty sure it was a bulging disk. He recommended a series of three epidurals. He said that they shoot a bunch of steroids into the space surrounding the disk and it makes the swelling go down. He said it has a 90% success rate in relieving pain.

The day came for the first epidural. The nurses treated me with kid gloves, almost pity. They acted as though the procedure was the worst thing you could go through short of a head amputation. They offered me a valium, because I "needed to relax or it was just going to be hell." (As an avid practioner of self-medication, I knew one little valium wasn't going to do anything, but I accepted. Of course.)

In came the epidural team, a huge dude in scrubs, about six-six, 280, and a doctor who I remember being quite attractive, despite the fact that she was about to stick a needle mere millimeters from my spine and squirt a bunch of chemicals into my back.

I got on a chair in front of the doctor and leaned forward and dude got in front of me, planted his feet and put his hands on my shoulders with great force. Between the offer of the valium and the huge dude holding me down, I was sure this was going to be the most unpleasant event of my life. I was whispering my Hail Marys when the doctor says, "OK, lie down on that bed for a while till you feel better, and you can go."

Nothing. I felt nothing. Maybe a little pinch, but nothing else. The next two times, I scoffed at the valium and was in and out in five minutes. Problem is, it did nothing for my back pain. The doctor said, "Well, it's a 90% success rate, you just happen to be in that unlucky 10%."

So now I stick with chiropractors. I've got a great one now, Chad. We get along great and he cracks my bones and doesn't care that every time he does I yell, "Owwww, GodDAMMIT you motherfucker!" Plus, he's a young, good-looking guy, so his waiting room is always full of hot women with "back problems."

So anyway, back to Katie and her drug-free birth. She's already had three kids, so she knows what she's in for. I'm certainly not going to give her any advice on her decision. I will say that my kid was born totally drug free. Purely natural. Not my ex-wife, mind you, she was dosed up with anything they would give her. But me, I was clean. Unless you count the flask in my pocket.

posted by Nashville Knucklehead @ 9:43 AM