Ever Wonder WHY They Call It A Pain Clinic or So...Does It Hurt When I Do THIS?

Going to a pain clinic isn't for sissies. In the first place I have come to the conclusion that we completely misinterpret the name of the place. Any time you are experiencing chronic or post op pain and your doctor or surgeon is tired of your whining they send you there. Your feeling is he or she is sending you there due to their specialization in helping control or rid you of your current agonies. Your brain is duped by  its desire to be done with identifying where and how much it hurts!

A pain clinic is where they hurt you to help you as well as as providing on the job training for budding sadists, dominatrices (Yes. I looked it up...plural form of dominatrix for those uninitiated), potential masochists and submissives (usually shortened to "sub" according to the urban dictionary). If you go there hurting you can be sure they will hurt you more in an attempt to make you feel better. And charge you or your insurance company for the pleasure.

My personal anti-pain  protocol requires only a rubber mallet 12 inches in length. The daily regimen is simple. If your head hurts you whack your big toe. Suddenly you've forgotten all about that nasty old headache while you hop around on one foot screaming expletives or anything else that improves your mood. Got a ingrown toenail throbbing in  your left foot? Yup. You guessed it. Get the big nail clippers and cut a V shaped notch in that nail as close to the inflamed area as possible. The hammer usually won't help with badly infected toenail pain. It can make you want to amputate or do something far more serious.

So I had to go to the pain clinic after knee surgery. I had a successful operation, but there is lingering pain in the same area since the day the post op meds wore off. X-Rays have been normal. Shots of steroid in the area did nothing. "I'm going to send you our pain clinic." I vaguely recall hearing the words as if static squawking from a distant CB radio. Could my ears be deceiving me? My guy here, the surgeon I trusted to repair me, wants to hand off me to the second string. It was like the coach deciding to kick a field goal when you're sitting 1st and goal at the one yard line! Had he lost his confidence or had he become tired of my ongoing physical complaints? Maybe a football metaphor here doesn't do him justice. It''s just that I don't know the other guy. He will have to earn my trust. Remember a wounded beast is the most dangerous animal in the wild. I am a mammal, but I come from a pretty quiet neighborhood, however there IS pain. So beware! I bruise easily.

The place was packed. The seats were filled by mostly older folk (makes sense) with the rest taken by those appearing to be of middle age. The only millennials I saw were either nurses, LPN's or medical technicians. I hoped the doctor was somewhat older and not still wet behind the ears.

After filling out sheet after sheet after sheet with information they have on file next door at their Ortho clinic I made it back to the room. The young lady who ushered me back was delightful and we chit chatted while she pumped the blood pressure cuff to the point of cutting off circulation in  my fingers. I was pretty stressed and the BP was higher than normal, but still within normal levels. So far so good.

I will describe what happened to me next if only to warn you. If you are not getting your back tweaked by a chiropractors, or being kneaded by some muscular Swede, beware of tables with a single hole in one end!  They spread paper on it and then make you put your face in that hole leaving you at their mercy.You can be sure you're not going to get a lumbar adjustment or a massage with ant hope of a happy ending. You are getting the NEEDLE! These guys are needle happy. I didn't realize how many times relief is offered via chemistry. A jab with a syringe full of some concoction to take your pain away! (Makes you feel like calling the cops.)

They hurt you to help you. It's only after the shot they tell you is will take two or three weeks for it to work. So now you hobble out of the place feeling worse than when you went in and have to hope to feel better in two weeks. And I paid for this?
Now to be fair, after being face down on that table with that same face buried in that small hole, the two injections I received did take care of one nagging problem (my wife is lovely and I love her dearly so leave her out of this), but the other continues to distress me and confound the medicos at the pain joint. More shots? OK...if you think it will help. Owww! Three weeks later...nope. What are these people doing? This pain clinic is a pain in my arse. No. Wait. They fixed that.
The next step was a doozie, but we don't need to go there. I am still having flashbacks. But the sadist...I mean doctor told me I will hurt for 6 weeks before feeling better. SIX WEEKS!? No wonder they failed to mention that before I agreed to the procedure.

In the past months I have been to this place a number of times and have yet to see anyone exit the office with a smile on their face, a spring in their step or a song on their lips. They usually limp out with that far away look in their eyes similar to shell shocked troops fresh off the battlefield. Now these are mostly older folks so part of that look might be a result of their age, but there is no instant relief at the pain clinic.  If there was then there would be no repeat customers.
I guess I'll have to keep going, but the first time I see bondage gear hanging in a cubby or catch anyone wearing spiky dog collars or spiky heels I am out of there (except maybe those spiky heels...)!