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Show 112 We are waiting until he has certainly gone far up the hallway and into the nurses' station before we finally look at each other, triumphant. We slap hands, his fingers straight, mine in a fixed fist, elbows also somewhat bent. It is not long before residents and interns gather at my bed, tray in hand. Hy leaves. He does not like such things. The sterile tray is set on the table and opened to the air. Latex gloves are snapped on. I am dreading what appears to be the six-inch long needle and the strands of shooting pain it will throw down my legs as it hits the sweet spot into the spinal cord area. This is a teaching hospital and I understand from her nervous glances at the older intern that the hand guiding this needle has never done this procedure before today. I am her guinea pig. I am her frog in freshman biology class. I am her rat in the maze. "See one. Do one. Teach one." It is the medical student's mantra. The intern handing the other intern the needle has possibly only seen only one and done only one. It is his turn to teach one. She does not get the sweet spot immediately but does manage to hit several peripheral nerves several times in the process and I am wanting to puke. Then she hits it and I know our questions will be answered soon. It is over and in spite of the potential for spinal headache from sitting up so soon after this procedure, I want to sit in my wheelchair. My arms are straightening. My legs are straightening. I had |