I’ve had a few trips to the doctors lately. Before these recent outings, it had probably been a decade since I was last examined. Thankfully, no newspapers from 2007 were found in any x-rays I received. However, nothing was really found wrong with me at all and I don’t feel much better.

Initially, I went to the doctor for a muscle spasm on the left side of my chest. You know, the one who is constantly criticizing President Trump and insisting Orange is the New Black is groundbreaking television. It started one stressful evening and continued for about 22 hours. The doctor told me not to worry about it because muscle spasms come and go or something else which left me feeling unsatisfied. His mentality was that it had stopped, therefore, I need to feel concerned.

Great. With this way of thinking, a serial killer could just stop murdering for a week then fool my doctor into never worrying again.

I also had blood tests done as well because I was curious to see if I had any after what Jenny’s brother had said about my pale skin in the past. The conclusion was I am relatively healthy. This still didn’t explain the primary reason why I saw the doctor: a nearly four-year-old ache in my left hip down to my foot. And when I say four-year-old, I don’t mean it’s selfish and a year away from starting kindergarten.

Since late 2012 I’ve had this ailment. Over the last few months it has gotten a lot worse. It’s affecting my daily life. I’m no longer able to listen to stories I don’t care about and I’m constantly listening to music on my phone loudly without headphones in public.

Truthfully, though, it has begun to limit my physical abilities. My hip flexibility is practically non-existent. I feel wooden sometimes with how immobile I’m becoming. In the next decade, I could be one of those early cane users you don’t let your kids near.

The specialist I saw thinks it’s sciatica. While possible, I think there’s more to this pain. The cortisone shot he gave me will help determine a few possible causes, but won’t do a damn thing to cure me for good.

Let me add a few more words: the cortisone shot in my lower left back was a lot more painful than the doctor led me to believe it would be. The needle was tolerable, but the way the medicine flowed into my left ass cheek and seemed to pinch everything inside was devastating. It was painful and odd. If I had to rank it, it was the most painful and odd thing to happen within my butthole.

According to the doctor, if my pain goes away then returns in a month it means I have sciatica. They’ll then need to do an MRI to determine the real cause. If the pain is not cured at all, it means they still have to do an MRI to determine what it is.

I’m hoping someone unknowingly stashed a million dollars in my hip and didn’t tell me about it.