Dr. Pain

When I was little, my pediatrician was named Dr. Paine.

I'm not making this up.

We used to laugh about it, as much as a 4 year old can when she goes to see a man called Dr. Paine who jabs her with needles.

On Tuesday, I will see a whole different kind of Dr. Pain (not his real name, natch, and hopefully nothing like T-Pain, featured above - a grill does not lend itself to a professional appearance). This doctor will, supposedly, help relieve my pain. This past week has been pretty atrocious, and I feel the worst I've been since I started back to work at the beginning of August.

Before I called to schedule my appointment, I Googled the new Dr. Pain, because I was curious about him: why my neurologist referred me to him, how long he'd been practicing, where he did his residency.

She referred me to one hell of a pain doctor.

Dr. Pain did his residency at Walter Reed Medical Center, and he is board certified by a bazillion different boards of specialization. A bazillion. That's a lot of certifications, Dear Reader. His website listed a bunch of different types of therapies he uses - most of which I didn't recognize, but none of which were "pills", so I felt better about that. I've been terrified of going to the type of doctor who just shoves a bottle at you and says, "Have fun with the narcotics. Don't drive too much."

Much like tequila and Coca-Cola, narcotics and construction sites don't go well together.

Not that I know from experience. About either of the above.

Hopefully, though, come Tuesday, there will be some path forward towards feeling better, again. Because this constant pain in the left half of my body is starting to become a royal pain in the-

I think you get the idea.