and badder than ever

After a brief interlude of relative back goodness, Stupid Daddy's back is back to being bad. Yes, that's right; the bad back is back.

He's been in agony for about a week now, swallowing Percocet and Flexeril and Advil and Tylenol individually and in combination, with little or no relief. And yet, because he is who he is, in between voodoo sessions acupuncture and chiropractic appointments he soldiers on--lifting kids, loading the dishwasher, sitting as his desk for hours on end, driving long distances to and from work--even though he moves like he's trying to balance an egg on his head.

His tolerance for pain is remarkable. Once, several years ago, he was rearranging some stuff in the basement and dropped a window fan on his foot. It was an old fan and the bottom edge was made out of sheet metal, so essentially this was like taking a guillotine to his foot. He called to me from downstairs, "I think we might need to drive to the hospital...and can you bring a dish towel down here?" His tone was so casual that I ambled down the stairs, not in any particular hurry. But I hauled ass once I saw what had happened.

After waiting forever at the hospital--Stupid Daddy slumping across two chairs with his towel-wrapped foot resting on a chair back, a wee Ezra squirming in my arms--we finally saw a doctor, who poked at the exposed flesh and tendons and then injected Novocain directly into the wound with a needle that was approximately 20 inches long. (And believe me, I know 20 inches.)

Stupid Daddy's only reaction, as this was happening: "Wow, that hurts."

He ended up having surgery to reattach all the tendons that connect the shin muscles to the toes. Even he had to be knocked out for that one.

So tomorrow, hopefully, an MRI.