Two weeks ago, Philly got hit with a nasty snowstorm. As usual, the missus and I went out to shovel, but the snow was – like Rosie O’Donnell – very wet and very heavy. An hour later, I noticed my elbow and shoulder were on fire. (Sadly, not literally, because that would have been less painful.) A day or so later, my father-in-law passed away, so I couldn’t get to the doctor. Nevertheless, the pain was getting progressively worse, and my idiot coworkers kept saying things like, “It’s a torn tendon,” it’s a fractured elbow,” etc.
Yesterday I finally saw the doc. Apparently I have tendonitis in my right elbow. The doc gave me anti-inflammatories, but said they’re a 50/50 proposition. If they don’t help, I’ll need a cortisone shot in my elbow. Ever helpful, the doctor said, “Oh, you don’t want that. It’s very painful.”
So here I sit, in excruciating pain, praying the meds start to take hold. So far, they have been less than effective, but it did get me out of shoveling through Wednesday’s snowstorm.