Beauty Queen Waves, Pain Levels and Roaches

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

When you go back to a doctor for follow-up after surgery they always ask, “Rate your pain level on a scale of 1 to 10.”  That’s a hard one.  First of all, does a one mean no pain?  If not, why don’t they give me a zero to ten scale?  I prefer for words to mean things and for them to mean the same thing every time; other than that, the zero issue doesn’t mean much.  For that matter, pain in the 1 or 2 range doesn’t mean much either.

My concern is, just what is a ten?  Is it the worst pain I have ever experienced or is it based on potential pain?  A guy I know had the same concern and told the nurse, “Pinch me a ten and I’ll tell you.”  Not only that, these things are relative.  I stopped to help a woman who said having a flat tire was the worst thing in her life.  I responded, “Count your blessings, you have had the easiest life of anyone I know.”

It is like rating women.  I considered the woman in the movie 10 to be a 7 over nine with a zero personality.  In other words, not a ten in my book, not even close.

The most painful experience in my life was a fight with my bride, the second was pleurisy. I’ve been cut, broken, bruised, battered and bent but unless I know how those fit the scale I can’t accurately answer the question.

The biggest adjustment has been the splint.  It is somewhat uncomfortable and inconvenient and it kept my hand cupped in a permanent wave position.  I was also told to keep my hand above my heart.  This means my right arm spent the past two weeks waving at everyone.  It also meant I somehow had to keep my hand above my heart while sleeping.

Once I lay down, “above my head” was no longer above my heart.  I spent several nights with my hand propped on pillows before I realized my stomach is unfortunately also above my heart.  Although resting my hand on my stomach was physically more comfortable, it did nothing for my emotional well-being. Realizing you have a bulging belly, a protruding paunch and an abnormal abdomen just doesn’t help the psyche.

During the day I couldn’t decide if I should do that silly beauty queen wave or the “How” hand sign from the cowboy and Indian movies.  OOPS! That isn’t politically correct.  I meant Native Americans and Cow Persons.

In any case, there isn’t much need for me to practice the Queen wave.  I’m too old and ugly to win a contest; besides, boys aren’t allowed to enter.  Hmm, wonder why that is PC and cowboys aren’t?  I’d be criticized for walking around saying “How” because I’m not Native American even though I am a native American.  It’s interesting the difference a capital N makes.

Anyway, I went back to the Doc for a checkup.  I was negotiating for several fingers to be left out of the wrap and the sweet nurse wrapped it so I had two and a half.

This changed my wave to an “Excuse me, may I ask you a question?” gesture.

I was also told I could remove the whole splint in three days.  This presented a small dilemma.  Management insisted the doctor meant three 24-hour periods.  I was going to count Thursday, Friday and Saturday.  That is three days. Thursday afternoon is one, Friday is two and that meant I could remove it Saturday at midnight :01.  Let’s just call that a miscalculation on my part and not discuss it any more.

I am also on a regular exercise program.  Management has been trying to get me to exercise for years and now that I am she isn’t impressed.  I am up to several hundred finger curls a day, not to mention the stretches.  By Sunday night I could touch my index finger to my thumb. I can’t quite get the O for OK.  It is more teardrop shaped.

This has lead to some odd comments I don’t understand but that indicate a lot about the past or possibly current activities of the people making them.  Apparently this is similar to the way one might hold some kind of illegal drug.  I’ve been asked several times if I am practicing holding roaches.  For the most part, we coexist fine with insects but neither of us can stand roaches and my bride can’t stand ants in the house.  There is no way I am going to hold a roach even if it is wearing a collar or a clip or any other jewelry.