Bleah!
Hi everybody! I'm on opiates!!! I wound up getting injured today in the most idiotic non-voluntary (as in "I wasn't drinking, I wasn't horsing around, and at no time did I say to anyone 'Hey, y'all, watch this'") ways possible.
It was the end of the day, and I'd just got on the external hoist (elevator) to ride down from the fifteenth floor. We detoured to the 18th, and then proceeded back down.
I'm leaning against the wall, stretching my shoulder muscles, and yawning, as we start down.
Now, a word about these hoists. They are well-screened-in steel boxes, riding up and down a long toothed rack that is affixed to a pillar standing out about ten feet from the side of the building. The elevate and delevate by means of an electric motor with a toothed gear on it that rides the rack-track.
Because of this design, there is a simple safety interlock device on it. If power goes out, a bolt shoots home in the motor, holding it in place, so the passengers don't all die horribly as it spins out of control and the cage plunges to its doom.
Some electrician on the tenth floor apparently got his wires crossed on the new panel he was installing. (I heard this over the hoist operator's radio.) He blew the breaker for the entire building.
So, as I was stretching arching my back, the hoist goes from descending at about four or so feet per second to zilch.
I could work out the precise deceleration if given enough time and accurate velocity figures, (and whoowhee, but that's a sure sign of drugs right there, I'm feeling frisky about math(drugs and too much Niven)) but I'm guessing from the way things slammed around that it was about three gs. Just for a split second.
And I felt my spine and back go "spung!" just like it's done before, when I was helping a guy throw a three-hundred-pound garbage can and he decided to let go.
Fortunately, this time, it was higher up, in my thoracic region, rather than my lower back.
So, after I get down on earth again, I decided to call my immediate supe, report it, and ask where I report for the mandatory drug testing. I just wanna get it filed and the test done, so, IF it's worse than I fear it is (it isn't hurting too bad at this point) I can get it treated and have it proven that I wasn't doing blow off the safety supervisor's hard hat at the time of the accident.
He (Don, one of the only ones there that is moderately decent to work for or with) warns me that if I might happen to be a recreational drug user, that going to the emergency room might not be the bestest of ideas. I tell him that I have every confidence that I can pass a drug test, as I am not a recreational drug user; and that getting the mandatory drug test out of the way is the main reason I'm reporting it; that if my optimism is warranted, I'll be fine in a day or two, but that I'm covering my bets, as I've injured my back before.
He tells me he's gonna call the boss (Jerry l'Idiot) and tell him what happened, and Jerry will call me with where to go.
So Jerry calls me, and gives me the same advice about mandatory drug tests, and warns me that if I fail it, I'll have to pay for everything. I tell him I'll pass it. He tells me again that if I've taken anything I don't have a prescription for, it's all on me. I again reassure him that I have every confidence that I'm not gonna fail a screening for illegal substances, and ask him where to go for the testing and to see a doctor.
He thinks for a minute, and tells me that he thinks White-Wilson clinic treats Worker's Comp. And to go there. And to tell them that I'm from NCS, and to phone him with what info requirements they need to treat me. And to take the mandatory drug test, which, he reminds me, will occasion me to have to pay for everything I'm going through if I fail it.
So, tired and in increasing pain, I tell him that I'm awfully glad that I hadn't shot up my heroin yet this week.
Get to the clinic. Drug testing is done for the day. Tina, the sweet receptionist, worriedly tells me that they don't have any appointments, per se, left, but that they will work me in. She asks who my Worker's Comp provider is. I iterate Jerry's questions, and she says that she needs WC insurer, case number and incident number.
I call Jerry and relate this to him. He tells me he doesn't know who the WC provider is, and tells me to tell them that he'll fax the information to them the next day, after he's called Jacksonville to find out who our insurer is.
Astonished with his professionalism and resourcefulness, I ring off and wait to see the doctor. Hour-and-a-half later, I find out the drug-testing clinic is closed for the night, and no, there are no night deposit containers. As the nurse is saying this, she points to the restroom and I gratefully shuffle-hop to it.
Doc checks me out, notes that I have uneven lumpiness to my back, has me do the flexing exercises, and has the nurse give me shots in the arse of toradol and some steroids, and then gives me a scrip for ibuprofen, skelaxin, and the Dark Prince. Same thing I'd had for my last muscle spasm.
She also gives me a "light duty" order consisting of no pushing, pulling or lifting anything over ten pounds, and no repetitive bending. For ONE WEEK.
I think startled the hell out of the nurse when I asked if she could ask the doctor to reduce it to three, or better yet, two days. She said something like "never heard THAT before" and I explain that a full week out of work is a bit much.
The doctor is firm, and says "one week" and reassures me that "light duty" means that they may be able to find SOMETHING for me to do. She then tells me to come in for my drug test in the morning.
I call Jerry and tell him of the orders, and he says "So basically, you can't work" and I ask about any non-bending non pushing non-pulling jobs,and well, there aren't any(I actually believe him on this: even his jobs have a physical element of carrying and loading and unloading supplies for us minions to deal with).
I'm gonna ask again tomorrow, after my WC information is in, but I don't think that they will budge: even if I think that two or three days max is fine, WC people are quick to confirm hold offs of a week, just to make sure they don't send people back to work too quickly. Which fact would be just ducky, if the compensation portion of WC kicked in earlier than a week or so.
Glad I decided to go to the doctor, though. The pain got progressively and geometrically worse as time passed.
So, despite my tale of "whoa!" I hopefully still have my sense of humor, and my dad pointed out that while I can't work for NCS, I can still do jobs for Mr. Houston at the appraisal office, as they have a few things stacked up for me to take care of, and none of that requires any bending or lifting at all: just software troubleshooting.
I just feel so freakin' embarrassed that I am suffering from "backlash"; that I got injured in such a bloody unlikely and improbable fashion.
It was the end of the day, and I'd just got on the external hoist (elevator) to ride down from the fifteenth floor. We detoured to the 18th, and then proceeded back down.
I'm leaning against the wall, stretching my shoulder muscles, and yawning, as we start down.
Now, a word about these hoists. They are well-screened-in steel boxes, riding up and down a long toothed rack that is affixed to a pillar standing out about ten feet from the side of the building. The elevate and delevate by means of an electric motor with a toothed gear on it that rides the rack-track.
Because of this design, there is a simple safety interlock device on it. If power goes out, a bolt shoots home in the motor, holding it in place, so the passengers don't all die horribly as it spins out of control and the cage plunges to its doom.
Some electrician on the tenth floor apparently got his wires crossed on the new panel he was installing. (I heard this over the hoist operator's radio.) He blew the breaker for the entire building.
So, as I was stretching arching my back, the hoist goes from descending at about four or so feet per second to zilch.
I could work out the precise deceleration if given enough time and accurate velocity figures, (and whoowhee, but that's a sure sign of drugs right there, I'm feeling frisky about math(drugs and too much Niven)) but I'm guessing from the way things slammed around that it was about three gs. Just for a split second.
And I felt my spine and back go "spung!" just like it's done before, when I was helping a guy throw a three-hundred-pound garbage can and he decided to let go.
Fortunately, this time, it was higher up, in my thoracic region, rather than my lower back.
So, after I get down on earth again, I decided to call my immediate supe, report it, and ask where I report for the mandatory drug testing. I just wanna get it filed and the test done, so, IF it's worse than I fear it is (it isn't hurting too bad at this point) I can get it treated and have it proven that I wasn't doing blow off the safety supervisor's hard hat at the time of the accident.
He (Don, one of the only ones there that is moderately decent to work for or with) warns me that if I might happen to be a recreational drug user, that going to the emergency room might not be the bestest of ideas. I tell him that I have every confidence that I can pass a drug test, as I am not a recreational drug user; and that getting the mandatory drug test out of the way is the main reason I'm reporting it; that if my optimism is warranted, I'll be fine in a day or two, but that I'm covering my bets, as I've injured my back before.
He tells me he's gonna call the boss (Jerry l'Idiot) and tell him what happened, and Jerry will call me with where to go.
So Jerry calls me, and gives me the same advice about mandatory drug tests, and warns me that if I fail it, I'll have to pay for everything. I tell him I'll pass it. He tells me again that if I've taken anything I don't have a prescription for, it's all on me. I again reassure him that I have every confidence that I'm not gonna fail a screening for illegal substances, and ask him where to go for the testing and to see a doctor.
He thinks for a minute, and tells me that he thinks White-Wilson clinic treats Worker's Comp. And to go there. And to tell them that I'm from NCS, and to phone him with what info requirements they need to treat me. And to take the mandatory drug test, which, he reminds me, will occasion me to have to pay for everything I'm going through if I fail it.
So, tired and in increasing pain, I tell him that I'm awfully glad that I hadn't shot up my heroin yet this week.
Get to the clinic. Drug testing is done for the day. Tina, the sweet receptionist, worriedly tells me that they don't have any appointments, per se, left, but that they will work me in. She asks who my Worker's Comp provider is. I iterate Jerry's questions, and she says that she needs WC insurer, case number and incident number.
I call Jerry and relate this to him. He tells me he doesn't know who the WC provider is, and tells me to tell them that he'll fax the information to them the next day, after he's called Jacksonville to find out who our insurer is.
Astonished with his professionalism and resourcefulness, I ring off and wait to see the doctor. Hour-and-a-half later, I find out the drug-testing clinic is closed for the night, and no, there are no night deposit containers. As the nurse is saying this, she points to the restroom and I gratefully shuffle-hop to it.
Doc checks me out, notes that I have uneven lumpiness to my back, has me do the flexing exercises, and has the nurse give me shots in the arse of toradol and some steroids, and then gives me a scrip for ibuprofen, skelaxin, and the Dark Prince. Same thing I'd had for my last muscle spasm.
She also gives me a "light duty" order consisting of no pushing, pulling or lifting anything over ten pounds, and no repetitive bending. For ONE WEEK.
I think startled the hell out of the nurse when I asked if she could ask the doctor to reduce it to three, or better yet, two days. She said something like "never heard THAT before" and I explain that a full week out of work is a bit much.
The doctor is firm, and says "one week" and reassures me that "light duty" means that they may be able to find SOMETHING for me to do. She then tells me to come in for my drug test in the morning.
I call Jerry and tell him of the orders, and he says "So basically, you can't work" and I ask about any non-bending non pushing non-pulling jobs,and well, there aren't any(I actually believe him on this: even his jobs have a physical element of carrying and loading and unloading supplies for us minions to deal with).
I'm gonna ask again tomorrow, after my WC information is in, but I don't think that they will budge: even if I think that two or three days max is fine, WC people are quick to confirm hold offs of a week, just to make sure they don't send people back to work too quickly. Which fact would be just ducky, if the compensation portion of WC kicked in earlier than a week or so.
Glad I decided to go to the doctor, though. The pain got progressively and geometrically worse as time passed.
So, despite my tale of "whoa!" I hopefully still have my sense of humor, and my dad pointed out that while I can't work for NCS, I can still do jobs for Mr. Houston at the appraisal office, as they have a few things stacked up for me to take care of, and none of that requires any bending or lifting at all: just software troubleshooting.
I just feel so freakin' embarrassed that I am suffering from "backlash"; that I got injured in such a bloody unlikely and improbable fashion.