Now, I have to admit that in my youthful days I did, however, indulge in the toxin of strong drink to the point that on numerous occasions over the weekends I became extremely inebriated. (If you come from these parts it means drunk). It was part of my youthful indiscretions and something that ceased shortly after my 19th birthday. God took me in different directions.

Since that time of my life I have always controlled what I drink and what kind of medications I take. I am the kind of guy that can take half of the prescribed dose of a medication for a cold and it can hit me like a ton of bricks and put me to sleep. I have become a big baby when it comes to doctor’s visits, dental appointments or any other thing that may cause me unnecessary pain, discomfort or loss of my personal control.

Now, if I cut myself on some barbed wire, or if a cow knocks me against the fence, or if my bull accidentally pins me between himself and a board fence, I’m okay. I can handle that pain just fine. But don’t ever come around me with a little sharp needle because I may go into a panic attack.

It was for this reason that I have been putting off a much-needed appointment with a back doctor. I have had a pinched nerve and have preferred to work through the pain instead of staring at a needle. Well, it has finally gotten to the point, however, that I had to succumb to the appointment. I needed one of those shot thingy’s in my spine to make the swelling go down around my nerves. It’s called a steroid shot.

I kept worrying about growing hair where I shouldn’t and losing some where I have it. I wondered if my voice would go up a pitch, or if my massive biceps would begin to sag. I was wondering if I would lose my six pack abs, but the pain has become so intense I had to succumb.

On the day of my procedure I had to forgo any food or water beginning at midnight. That meant no morning coffee and no breakfast. I knew this couldn’t be good. As I arrived at the doctor’s office, I immediately got into trouble with my wife. She was going with me ’cause she knew I was a big baby. She had specifically instructed me to wear a good pair of underwear.

Upon entering the little room, Nurse Toni told me to strip down to my underwear (what a sight!) and put on this little piece of flimsy cloth that was no bigger than Adam’s fig leaf. It tied in the back and both women knew that, being a man, I did not have experience of tying things behind my back like a woman does. So she told my wife to help me as she stepped out of the room. When I dropped my drawers I had a itsy, bitsy, tennie, tinny rip at the elastic on my whitey tighties and my wife fussed at me for not wearing a better pair.

After a short while Nurse Toni came back in and started an IV. Once I was all prepared, Nurse Amie walked me through a small door to an adjoining room where I saw the faces of Dr. Carlos and Dr. Mark. Everyone was all smiling and ready to take care of my medical procedure, but they were probably smiling because they may have already heard about my holey underwear. I’m sure they heard my wife fussing at me.

They immediately began a systematic cadence of order to each other when one of them said something to me about my cows and then…suddenly…I was in La La Land. I can still hear voices in my head about cattle but I’m…

Now the next part of this story is very unusual but very, very true. After a short 10 to 15 minute procedure of which I had no concept of time, I heard a voice continuing to talk to me about my cattle. I have no idea what was really said or who said it, but I thought one of the voices was saying something to me about “working” my calves at the ranch.

Now where that thought came from I have no idea, but as soon as I heard this voice I immediately began describing the process to them of…of….well, fixin’ sheep! (Fixin’ in the country boy sense and not repairing!) I didn’t even have my head off the bed when I started blurting out the process. Now if there are any sheep farmers in the bunch you can testify to this statement and I will tell you that I am not messing with you when I tell you that real sheep farmers use their…ahhh…well…ahhh… they actually really and truly use their teeth to complete the process. No joke!

It’s faster, easier to grip and makes a tough job fast! Why in the world I had to tell this group of fine people who just assisted me in a medical procedure, I have no idea, but I did. I can remember it as clear as a bell and they have reminded me.

Somewhere along the way Medical Assistant Michelle helped me through the procedure when it was over.

Well, I’m still in the midst of finding out how the procedure worked, but it just reinforced the beginning of my story. I’m glad I don’t take anything that lets me be out of control of my facilities!

I’m just glad I’m not a sheep farmer!

Clifford

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