Chronicles of
Dear Readers,
I hope you have fared better than I this past seven days. With God’s help, I have made it through a character- building week, beginning on Monday with a trip to the endodontist and culminating with a visit to the emergency room yesterday. I admit I was still in recovery mode this morning and struggled with a topic for today’s column. I could almost hear “Miss Lavinia’s” voice from the grave telling me to quit “Mulley Grubbing” and get over it! I have found when I am stressed out and struggling, if I can remember something that was humorous in a situation, the gray clouds go away, so here goes.
On Monday, Rhett and I struck out for Valdosta at the break of dawn for the dental appointment. I’m sure I looked like a one-sided chipmunk from struggling with dual abscesses for over a week. After about 30 minutes, Rhett enlightened me with the news that we were going the wrong way. In my drug induced state, I had the wisdom not to say “We?” He recalculated and got us there in time.
While I was in the dentist’s chair waiting for the Novocain to take effect, he entertained me with tales from his youth about riding a boar hog with his younger brother. When the hog stepped on his brother’s foot, he leaned over and bit the porker on the ear. The ride was on. These boys were raised in Willacoochee. I relaxed knowing we were kindred spirits.
Once the tooth pain had eased and the pain medicine had run out, I had to deal with the fact that I was experiencing some pretty significant pain in my right rib area. I knew what a broken rib felt like from jumping in the tub of my washer to retrieve a sock many years ago. The pain felt similar. We went to urgent care and got an order for a chest X-ray. I had a scheduled appointment for Thursday with my NP. You know what that means. It’s the mid-level you see at every visit instead of the doctor.
After increasing pain overnight and a newly developed cough, I asked Rhett to just take me to the emergency room instead. We launched out with me in my floral pajamas, slippers and fur hooded winter parka. I figured people go everywhere these days with pajamas and those hideous golf ball slippers (Kroger, Walmart, the bank) so I would just blend in. I could always just pull up the hood if I saw anyone we knew.
I was imagining the worst of diagnoses. Flu, COVID, Septic Right sided pneumonia, or worse yet, recurrence of Lymphoma. A little knowledge is sometimes a bad thing. Blood pressure was sky- high, so I added a stroke to my possible ailments. I was all but planning my funeral by the time the doctor arrived.
Now, I do have a word of caution for you all. HIPPA laws just fade away in an ER. Privacy does not exist in that setting. You would be wise to take a pen and notebook to write down any embarrassing symptoms you may be experiencing. Curtains are not sound resistant. I could overhear every ache, pain and treatment plan for the three patients that came in following us. The fellow that shot himself in the foot while cleaning his rifle is still mourning the loss of his boot! Just saying… Long story short, the swabs and repeat X-ray were all normal. I sighed with relief and went home reassured. Rhett made the true diagnosis. I was probably suffering from muscle strain. After all, we have traveled thousands of miles since the first of June. A little red sports car is fun when you are 20, but torture when you are four score and more! Sincerely,
Scarlett
Please send your questions to Scarlett at: scarlettodara5 @gmail.com or through postal mail to: Scarlett O’Dara, 902 Elizabeth St., Waycross, GA 31503.