Pain Is Such A Rush

Today, for the second time in two weeks, I got a steroid shot in my foot to try to fix a pinched nerve under my toes.

Go ahead - cringe. It's definitely cringe-worthy. I'm still cringing.

Now I have a pretty high pain tolerance - I gave birth with no drugs, for goodness sakes - but HOLY FREAKIN' COW!!!

The first time I got the shot, it was painful, but quick - and not nearly as bad as the cortisone shots I had injected in both knees (one at a time, BTW - my mom, who should have been a doctor, had to leave the room on that one).

This time, however, I should have asked for the pre-shot polo mallet to the head.

Adding to the fun, both the Princesses were with me, holding my hand as I got the shot (I know - could they be any cuter?!!) I, of course, consciously tried to keep a smile on my face while getting the shot, but of course I lost that pretty dang quick. Poor Princess G looked at me and said "Mom?" with such a pathetic please-tell-me-you're-ok-or-I'm-gonna-scream-and-gnaw-this-doc's-knees-off, I had to get a smile back on my face, pronto.

Now I've faked a lot of smiles in my life (I used to teach dance team camps - smiling 14 hours a day battling ridiculous heat, idiotic coaches and demon-spawned stage-moms-from-hell - I'm surprised I don't look like the Joker by now), but that one came from that very special place where moms have this storehouse of smiles - so that you can smile and say, "It's gonna be fine, hon!" as you're looking at your kid's toe half-lopped off by a lawnmower (that was my dear, now half-toeless brother).

Or when you can comfort a little princess who's had her heart broken by a pre-pubescent Mean Girl, while simultaneously squishing the urge to go throw the offending little brat (and her "not my darling girl!" mommy) off the nearest bridge.

Or when you can smile as you drive away and leave them standing in front of their freshman college dorm, saving the sobs for your dear hubby to hear the entire way home (four hours for my mom - my dad's still traumatized, and it's been 20 years. When they take my sister to college next year, I fully expect Dad to charter a plane to stick Mom in for the trip home, while he enjoys a quiet ride home and plans the blowout party to celebrate life without any children in their home.)

I'm now convinced if we could harness this Mommy Power, we'd blow the crap out of this energy crisis.

But I digress - back to the offending appendage. It's bruised and aching - and I have a lovely two-needle-prick bruise (did I mention the needle slid out of position the first time and she had to stick me again?!!!) - and I'll be in sneakers for the next week to try to avoid needing a third (technically a fourth) shot.

If I do have to get another, will someone volunteer to drive me there - and get me seriously likkerd up (in the grand Southern tradition, of course) before we go?