I went to my dreaded Ortho appointment today. It was the usual long wait in an uncomfortable chair, another dose of radiation (X-rays), a befuddled doc who hadn't so much as glanced at my chart, orders for more tests and then bad news.
As I expected my left hip is toast. We need an MRI to confirm the extent of bone death and that there's no infection. I HATE MRIs. The last time my insensitive Ortho ordered an MRI it was last February when he ordered films of my back and both hips. I was laying on that hard table inside that noisy tube for 3hrs! No exaggeration, just ask Mike's saintly sister who held Riley in the waiting room the whole time. It was after having that cursed test that I took to bed for weeks signaling the true beginning of the end.
Basically once I endure the MRI and Ortho gets the info he needs it's up to me to "pick a date." Hurray...I'm 29 I had hoped I'd pick a date for my wedding before I had to pick a date to remove a major joint from my body. Speaking of what do they do with it? Is it thrown in some bio-hazard bag somewhere? I'd love to see the bugger that's been causing me misery all these years. I mean it's not like they can just donate my dying bone? Or is it?
I'll post about my MRI experience on Thursday, St. Patrick's Day. It's actually befitting the true luck of the Irish, oppression, potato famine, MRIs, etc
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