Cortisone Day, cont'd

[dr_pretentious]

In the first hour of cortisone, Father Cortisone gave to me...a dose of novocaine that, even now, creates the feeling that nothing exists between the back crescent of my heel and the tips of my toes. It is a very strange sensation to put weight on a body part that, as far as my brain is concerned, doesn't exist.

In the second hour of cortisone, Father Cortisone gave to me...a prescription for percocet.

In the third hour of cortisone... I intend to be unconscious, actually, for the next several hours of Cortisone Day. I really don't want to be here when the novocaine wears off.


How I know I have good friend karma: Because Dan couldn't get the day off work, Breva the Axe fought rush hour traffic on Route 18 to come drive me to the appointment. Yes, the same Breva the Axe whose dissertation defense is on December 12th, and whose defense draft is due in her department's office tomorrow. In fact, this is the same Breva the Axe who had to deal with a cancer scare this month. Imagine having a cancer scare to cope with, four weeks before your dissertation defense. She keeps telling me I've earned my friend karma, because I spent yesterday copyediting her dissertation chapters. (I've been rather gratified to learn that I can still keep up with an introductory chapter full of Hegel, Kant, Derrida, and Lyotard. History of aesthetics? No sweat! Postmodernism and postcolonial literary theory? I got yer postmodernism right here. For a brief moment last night, I wondered if it really was too late, after all, to work in the field I trained for. But then it occurred to me that I'd have to go back to writing about all that stuff. Hives!)

The injection itself was not as bad as I expected. Bad, but not as bad as a week's worth of mobility impairment.

My mother, who has had cortisone injections in nearly every significant joint of her body, said, "Last time I got one, it was such a relief compared to the pain it was to treat, I felt like skipping through the parking lot on the way out of the hospital. The shot itself is incapacitating for some people, but those are people who regard any pain as a surprising thing. You and I know better." I didn't want to get my hopes up, but it turns out Mom was right.

When the injection itself was over, Father Cortisone said, "I'd say you can return to your normal activities, as you feel able."

"Normal activities?" said I. "Hey, Breva the Axe, wanna go write at Starbucks?" Because there is no more normal activity than that. And it was as good a place as any to wait for my percocet prescription to be filled.

So we wrote at Starbucks for a while, until she looked up from her laptop and this exchange made further work impossible:

BREVA: Argh!

ME: What?

BREVA: I need an article from a British journal, and the journal doesn't include the year of publication in its data. I can find a million references to the journal and the article, but none of them have the year. Why do our librarians need the year for interlibrary loan, if I've given them the issue and volume numbers? They're librarians. How hard can it be for them? I'm going to have an aneurysm right now. My blood is boiling. Are my eyes boogling out? I feel like my eyes are boogling out.

ME: Clearly, we are in the middle of a superhero origin story.

BREVA: No, Sarah, this is a supervillain origin story. The bureaucracy of this university is turning me into a supervillain!

ME: After your defense on the 12th, you'll be Dr. Furious, with powers fueled by your boundless rage.

BREVA: Dr. Furious. I like that, Dr. Pretentious. How are you liking the supervillain business?

ME: It's okay, but wearing the standard Marvel supervillain colors is problematic. Grape soda purple and kelly green are not that flattering on me.



Anyway, here's hoping the percocet's not too big an impediment during my evening writing shift. I'm not sure it can make me any loopier than I already am.

Comments

[sabrinamari.livejournal.com]

You've earned all your friend karma---you've copyedited and critiqued and helped shape how many dissertations now?

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

I've lost count. At least ten. Probably fewer than twenty. I was really good at it. That's the hard thing about having walked away from academia--the profession was never going to give me back enough of anything I valued to make the constant massive sacrifices worthwhile for me, and yet, I was really, really good at it.

[jeneralist.livejournal.com]

Dr. Pretentious, if you find that Marvel's color palette doesn't suit the complexion of a megalomaniac of your distinction, may I suggest a publisher with more experience in dealing with complexity? You don't need 1960s-style, all-primary-color costuming, and as recently demonstrated in _The Incredibles_ (Pixar Animation Studios, 2004) capes are hazardous to one's health. Now, I see you doing well with America's Best Comics (ABC). Their recent series _Promethea_ (Alan Moore, ABC Comics, 2003) featured a discourse on Tarot and ceremonial magic by a heroine -- or was it a supervillianess? -- who brought about the end of the world.

Perhaps with a thesaurus in one hand and an editing pencil in the other?

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

Not so big on the thesaurus, but maybe I can jack my brain directly into the OED.

[reynaud.livejournal.com]

Actually, ten bucks says that the people who handle the day to day ILL crap are paraprofessionals. Did Madame Breva go to her friendly neighborhood periodicals librarians for help? Or, baring that, a reference librarian?

Ah, but why must you be a MARVEL supervillian? Why not a DC villian? Hell, one of them wears a tuxedo, for pete's sake.

And Dr. Furious might be a supervillian, but Dr. Pretentious is clearly a superhero.

[monotreme.livejournal.com]

That psychedelic journey towards reality was a kick - no exclusively Marvel colors there.