Published on Monday, November 11, 2013 by Katherine My thoracic epidural steroid injection was a little more than two hours away.  I had twenty minutes to kill before I was expected to drink 16 ounces of Gatorade and partake in some physician prescribed happy pills. Coincidentally, I was a few yards away from the entrance to an abandoned farm house and barn I had yet to explore.  The one time I had tried to explore ...