Vicodine, ask for it by name
I once again fell off the blogosphere. To be honest nothing really worth writing about has happened. I’ve been training, working and watching Battlestar Galactica. Pretty standard stuff. Till two days ago.
For whatever reason, Monday I woke up with excruciating pain in my right shoulder. And to add injury to insult, I had to make my hour and twenty minute commute to the office. So with no ability to swivel my head to the right, I merged onto the 405 freeway and headed north to
Self-medication is something that is held in high esteem with the Brownes. My parents passed down the oral history of Brownes going into hospital and never leaving, so taking care of your own injuries or sickness was essential to survival. However, I called my parents to see what I should do.
“Is this going to stop you training for the L’Etape ride?” asked my dad.
“Then don’t go to the doctor! Sweet Jesus you’re a puss! Can’t that Noel guy you talk about give you something?”
That was a fruitful conversation.
So last night I went to the grocery store and purchased the Browne First Aide kit: six-pack of beer, Aleve and chocolate Jello. The chocolate Jello is my own contribution and not what my father recommended. And sure enough, after a few beers, I was no longer in pain. Problem solved I thought. Till this morning.
This morning I woke up to the same stabbing pain in the right shoulder with the additional throbbing of an acute hangover. So I relented and called my doctor for an appointment. I’m seeing him at 2:00 and I’ll try and blog from there because I’ll be bored and don’t want to read Sunset Magazine.