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Published on Monday, July 07, 2008
By Dennis McCarthy
So a couple of Sundays ago I'm lying on a gurney in the hallway of the West Hills Hospital emergency room begging for drugs when a seriously overweight guy walks by with the back of his hospital gown open.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"What's the matter with you?" a busy nurse finally stops to ask me.
"My back's out," I blubber. "Hurts like h--- all the way down my leg."
"Sciatica," she says. "Painful, I know. All the doctors are busy with emergencies. You'll be next."
Half an hour later, Dr. Doogie Howser stops by, gives me a shot to ease the pain, and sends me home to rest in bed with a pharmaceutical panoply of pain killers.
And that's where I've been the past week when the paper says I keep having the day off. Technically, I do - but it's much more than that and it's making life miserable for my wife, the maid.
The sciatica pain hasn't let up yet so I'm going in for an epidural shot this week
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