Calling Dr. Bombay
Did you know that on August 19th in 1692 five people were hanged in the Salem Witch trials? A harsh punishment for innocent people who were no doubt not actually witches. For the record, while I like Sinatra’s version of the song, I do not believe in witchcraft.
But what about the opposite situation? What sort of consequence exists for those who falsely claim to be witches? What puritanical capital punishment have we got for those nutjobs?
You see, about seven years ago I was run over by a crazy old Witch in a parking lot. And by Witch I don’t mean Bitch, I mean Witch. I was walking through the parking lot, carrying Little Chick — who at the time was just a Baby Chick — when this elderly broad with a lead foot sped through the parking lot and mowed us down.
She was not at all remorseful, in fact grouchy and defensive. While we waited for the ambulance she handed us her card which read “Reverend Mother.”
A nun? I was run over by a nun? Needless to say my friends got a huge kick out of this symbolic twist.
Little Chick and I were both miraculously okay despite the chaos of it all. After several scary hours in the emergency room, it was confirmed Little Chick suffered only a concussion and scraped finger. I had a hairline fracture on my foot, bruises all over my left side, and two herniated discs in my lower back.
A few weeks later we contacted the Evil Reverend Mother to discuss her insurance information which wasn’t syncing up properly. A strange conversation ensued whereby she explained that she was not actually a “nun” but more like a Witch Priestess who performed exorcisms. For money.
I swear this sort of thing only happens to me.
Long story short I have suffered with back problems since this incident. Why couldn’t she drive a broom instead of a four-door sedan? I succumbed and had surgery about five years ago, and until this summer, my back has done fairly well. But one pesky move on the Beaverhead this past July 4th changed that. We were wrapping up a great float at a super primitive takeout where the boat practically dangles off the trailer while you are wenching it up. I tried to help push it up, but instead pushed a disk onto a nerve in my back.
It’s driving me nuts. And I am about to start training for the water safari! This is unacceptable pain and I know the oral steroid pack will fix it pronto. But my damn surgeon won’t call in the prescription without a doctor’s visit and an MRI. Ugh!! I don’t have the time or money for that. This may or may not shock you but the FLY FISH CHICK healthcare plan isn’t really all that great. In fact spine issues are pre-existing and not covered at all.
I just need the little steroid pack. I don’t want pain pills, I’m not looking for narcotics for heaven’s sake. I just want the damn steroid pack and I don’t want to spend four hours and $800 to have a superstar surgeon tell me I need another surgery — but he will let me try a steroid pack if I really think I need it. Of course I need it, and I will stop at nothing until I get it. I am widening the net. Surgeons, homeopathic healers, general practitioners, OBGyns, witchdoctors, warlocks. I don’t care if it’s the Surgeon General or an utter Quack, someone is going to help me get this magic potion fast and cheap. If I have to conjure up a spell on the Internet, bid for it on ebay, or knock over a CVS, I will get the drug for my back.
Fire up the broomstick. I am on the hunt.