Costco-chondritis and campaigning for Obama on Vicodin

After two weeks of coughing, I was finally feeling better on Wednesday, and decided to go to a Pilates class. It felt wonderful to begin stretching and twisting and waking muscles and tendons that had been dormant for weeks. But it was difficult, and my quickened breathing brought the coughs back.

That evening, I began to feel sharp pain in my chest every time I took a breath. By 11 p.m., as I was trying to fall asleep, the pain became so severe that my internal "you-are-actually-not-ok" alarm began going off, and I asked my roommate to take me to the ER.

Feeling sheepish, I filled out the paperwork and waited to be seen, certain that I was overreacting. What if it was nothing more than sore muscles from my Pilates workout, I thought. Pathetic! Finally, a nice P.A. sat me down, asked me what was up, and poked at my ribs until I screeched. Then they x-rayed my chest. Sometimes I think those x-ray technicians are just out to have a bit of fun with you: "Now raise your arms up above your head...good...stick your chest forward, toward the screen...uh-huh...tip your head to the left...just a bit...and make chicken noises. Good, good, hold it...and...done!"

After feeling certain that I had come to the ER for nothing, it was almost as gratifying as it was surprising when the results came in: it turns out that I managed to cough so hard that I popped a rib out of place!

Normally, my ribs are attached to my breastbone with some lovely cartilage that holds everything in place. Apparently, the dramatic coughing that has gripped me for the last few weeks finally became so intense on Wednesday that it dislodged one of my ribs from my cartilage. The rib itself is not broken, exactly, but it is broken away from its cartilage connection (ewwwwwwwwwww). The injury falls under a category of conditions called "costochondritis," meaning the inflammation of the cartilage between or around the ribs. (Claire helpfully pointed out that, had the condition arisen during a shopping trip for bulk items, it would have been called Costco-chondritis.)

There's not much they can do to speed the healing. They've put me on Vicodin (wheeeee) as well as prescription-strength Motrin, and told me to rest for a few weeks. It hurts to breathe and to move around, so I'm inclined to obey the doctor's instructions to stay in bed for a few weeks, but I'm disappointed to be missing a planned trip to DC for an annual MLK celebration with dear friends. I'm also heartbroken to be told that I can't dance for a month. I'm trying to resign myself to three weeks of movies, books, and drugged wooziness.

Maybe I'll finally volunteer for Obama, now that I have some enforced free time. I have to say, though, it probably won't help anyone for me to make campaign calls while I'm on Vicodin. Seriously. I'm pretty sensitive to drugs, and these 500 mg doses of Vicodin make me quite silly. I can imagine the conversation now:

"Hello?"
"Heeeeeeeyyyyy."
"Who is this?"
"Emily. [giggle] Who's this?"
"This is Charles."
"Mmmmm. Charles. Like the river. Or the airport. I knew this guy once whose name was Charles, but he went by Chaz. He was kind of a tool, though, to be honest. Slept with anything that had a pulse."
"Can I help you with something?"
"Oh! Yes! You should vote for Obama because he's super. Even though his health care plan is a liiiiiiiiitle bit weird. But still. He's rad. And he has a messy desk, which means he's human. Do you have a messy desk?"
*click*