No joke.

I have a bum knee, and whatever is supposed to be inside of it (Skittles, unicorn kisses, sheet rock, I don’t know) I only have 5% left of it. Now I’m terrible at math, but missing 95% of something needed is not usually good.

It’s all kinds of bad. I’m too young for a knee replacement, so for the next 15-20 years I am to survive on cortisone shots, Ben Gay kisses, and ice pack dreams.

Cortisone shots are supposed to work for at least 3-6 months. Mine lasted about 6 weeks. Then, like a dork, instead of calling the doctor when I notice it is starting to hurt, I wait for it to magically feel better until I can’t stand it, then I call.  Then I have to wait another few weeks to get in.

The last time, the doctor said if cortisone doesn’t work, we’re going to try a gel instead.  I call when I can’t stand it anymore, on September 3rd, and they call my insurance company to approve it. For some reason it took the insurance company a MONTH to do so.

I was shocked because insurance companies usually work really fast. *snicker*

Soooooo, I was FINALLY able to get the shot yesterday, October 15th. By this time, I’m eating Motrin like candy, weeble wobbling all over the house and generally feeling about 117 years old.  I take all three kids with me, because the shots are supposed to be timed. Same time every seven days for 3 weeks. They wouldn’t make me wait, right?

Wrong. My 16 year old and two 3 year olds end up stuck with me in a 90 degree room the size of stall in an elementary school for an hour. I was almost ready to just find the shot and inject it myself. He finally comes in, and the kids are looking at him accusingly, and he humbly apologizes. That’s nice, Doctor, shoot me up already.  He asks if I’m allergic to bird products, like eggs, and I laughed and said no.

He then pulls out a needle WAY bigger than the last time, and stabs me repeatedly in the knee with the force of the Incredible Hulk.

Ok, not really, he gently did it once, but it felt like the above.  I asked what exactly it was he shot me up with, and he told me it was a Hyaluronan which is partially made from processed rooster or chicken combs.

Interesting. My question is: WHO FIGURED IT OUT? Who said: “HEY, I’m gonna take a rooster comb and see if it can help arthritis!” Was this person laughed at? Mocked? Given a wedgie from all the science nerds in the lab? How does this happen?

I’m just glad I asked, because it totally explains why driving past Kentucky Fried Chicken today made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and the urge to flee was so prominent. I also have the incredible urge to throw food on the floor and peck at it.  I promise, if I lay any eggs, you’ll be the first to know.