As I said in an earlier post, I was not going to spend my 50th birthday in this clinic. After much thought, I decided to suck it up, consider my health over my alcohol requirements, and ask Dr. Quackenbush if he recommended a fourth week of therapy. Without even stopping to think about it, he said no. This pleased me in more ways than one. First, it means I get to leave here, celebrate my birthday how and where I want, and at the end of the day go home and hug my own bowl, (at a more comfortable angle I might add) if the need arises. Second, it means that the doctor wasn't just trying to fill a bed for another week. He told me three weeks was long enough, and that the body, and the mind, need time to rest and recover for a few days before starting the next phase of therapy.

I'm actually going to miss this place after I'm gone. The longer I've been here, the more things they find for me to do with my pants down. Unfortunately, one of those things required me to shave my left leg so the therapist could apply Kenesio Tape over the sciatic nerve from my left cheek to my ankle. I didn't really have a problem with that, I mean it's winter and no one's going to see it, right?. What sucked is shaving the back of your thigh is like shaving the back of your head, you can't see either place. I also wasn't dealing with just a day or two of stubble, we're talking 50 years of growth here. One stroke of my razor and the twin blades looked like they were clogged with a small mouse. It was like trying to shave a Wookie with a butter knife.

SPOILER ALERT!! If needles make you queasy, skip to the next paragraph. The good doctor decided to try a different approach today and gave me a shot directly into the spinal canal a couple of inches from the end of the tail bone. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. The first shot (oh yeah, there were two) was a local anesthetic, followed by the second shot which was a cocktail of painkiller, steroid, espresso, and Old Spice. The result was a numbing of my entire pelvic region, and a warmth that made me wonder whether I had just soiled myself. I still don't know what it was supposed to do, but I assure you it didn't seem worth the whole experience. This was at 0830. I thought my day couldn't get any worse, until the therapist sat on my glasses. In a weird stroke of luck, guess who's roommate makes eyeglasses for a living?

So, I'm paroled on Saturday, and not a moment too soon. In the last two days I've heard songs by BOTH Oasis, and Red Hot Chili Peppers on the radio in the therapy room. I could have ALMOST lived with hearing one or the other, BUT BOTH?! I would rather have a shot in the spine every day for the rest of my life than listen to those two bands. Take a blowtorch to my eardrums and put me out of my misery. Let zombie moles burrow into my skull and feed on my brain. Put those alien bugs from "The Wrath Of Kahn" into my ears to drive me insane. ANYTHING, just don't make me listen to the bands whose names must not be spoken. I'm just saying.