What started as a pulled muscle in my shoulder (or so I thought) in Italy when I leaned over the back of the left-hand drive car seat to pick up the back pack has turned into a full-blown pain in the neck. Literally.
There's not much you can do about a pulled muscle except rest it (or so my logic went) and so I did exactly that.
9 weeks later the pain was worse, not better, and Walter put his foot down "Off you go to the rooms, it's time for a doctor to sort you out"
And so I went. I had avoided it because the thought of all the schlepping involved in investigating it froze my brain. Who has the time?
I explained the problem to the doctor, she pushed and prodded, made me move my arm up (this brought tears to my eyes) and announced I probably needed a scan. "It's very likely a torn rotator cuff. Take these anti-inflammatories for 3 days and call me if it's not feeling better". She suggested a cortisone injection directly into the shoulder as soon as the diagnosis was confirmed by a scan. I considered taking a bottle of Tequila instead.
I Googled rotator cuff, I took the pills. It didn't get any better.I called her."It's not better" I said, "and I have pins and needles in my hand. Sorry, I forgot to tell you that when I saw you" Apparently pins and needles in the hand was quite an important thing to leave out, it indicates spine issues. "Go for the scan, when they give you the results open the envelope and read them. If it's normal ask for neck x-rays" (Open the envelope? The very rebellion of it took my breath away. Have you seen the tape they use to seal these reports? DOCTOR TO OPEN ONLY! CONFIDENTIAL! HERE BE DRAGONS!)
I waited a few days. Maybe it just needed more time? (The cortisone injection loomed large) But there was no improvement so I made the appointment and went off for the scan on a Friday afternoon. I can't tell you how painful that was, they dug the scanner right into my shoulder "That's exactly where it hurts" I whined. "That's exactly where there's no sign of damage" they said disapprovingly. I felt like a fraud.
I asked for the neck x-ray (this required some negotiation, they don't like patients telling them what to do). They sighed. I could see them calculating how late they would have to stay on a Friday for The Malingerer. "Go and get undressed and we'll call you when we're ready"
I put on the gown. I sat. I waited. I fiddled with my phone. I had the x-rays. "Get dressed. Go and wait and we'll send the x-rays through to you for your doctor". I sat and waited. The Radiologist Himself appeared, looking concerned, and came to sit with me.
Attention radiologists: This is probably not the best way to do things. I started writing my obituary in my head; have I done enough with my life?
"How is your neck feeling?" He asked me gently. I thought about my brother-in-law lying upstairs in the same hospital, with lung cancer and a brain tumour. "My neck is fine" I said, "how long do I have?" (Thinking, at least my children are adults, and well-equipped to cope with life without me) "Oh no" he said, finally understanding where I was going "nothing like that. Not like that at all. You have quite a severe problem with your C6 and C7 vertebrae. The pain in your arm and shoulder is referred pain. Are you sure you have no pain in your neck or back? Chest pains? Jaw?"
I stared at him, shook my head. "No, it's definitely my shoulder. I remember hurting it in Italy" I was quite adamant. He pressed gently on the top of my spine. Pain shot down my arm, pins and needles tingled in my left hand. "See? You'll need a neurosurgeon and an MRI"
My GP called me first thing Monday morning, I was quite surprised at the speed of things - she had already booked me an appointment with a leading neurosurgeon for early Tuesday. She provided me with all the medical aid codes and numbers required for them to approve the MRI.
Look, I've watched Grey's Anatomy and ER, I've seen how people freak out in these machines and I've watched McDreamy knit his carefully-plucked brows in fierce concentration when viewing the results.Unfortunately McDreamy was nowhere to be seen. There was a slightly different attitude to me, though. Clearly an MRI patient rates higher than a mere scan patient (especially an uppity one demanding x-rays, have you ever?) I filled in the form (good thing I haven't had the courage to get the bionic ears yet, that's a nix for an MRI) got into a gown and was ushered into The MRI Room (said in reverent tones)
Some thoughts about the MRI:
- It's noisy
- We should have music in there
- The time went much faster than I thought
The neurosurgeon doesn't do disks. They printed everything out for me, his Name invoked further respect.
Off I went to meet the Neurosurgeon (yes, even I was capitalising him, given how reverent the radiologist had been)
A whole day. This was the schlepping I had tried to avoid. I sat. I waited. I played with my phone (another act of rebellion, there's a sign saying NO CELL PHONES with a red line through it and everything)
I met him, he showed me the MRI (cross-sections of beans, I thought) He explained. The gewurtztramminer is pressing on the how'syourfather which results in a biflapular ribbit. Or something along those lines (More "Are you SURE you have no neck/back/jaw/chest pain?") I explained my theory. He nodded wisely. 'It's well-known that red-heads have higher pain thresholds than other people' I asked him not to see that as a challenge. More tests, just pop back into the waiting room and I'll see you later.
A deceptively innocent-looking waif came to fetch me. Let's call her Ate. I sat on the examination table while she twiddled and twirled the knobs on an innocuous machine. Interesting, an alternative approach. She was reading my aura! Alas, it was not to be. While I was contemplating the gentle shades of my higher self she pushed gently on the muscle between my shoulder and my neck (a massage, how lovely) then calmly plunged a fierce needle through the muscle straight down to the bone.
And then repeated the procedure on the other side.
Before I could recover my composure or plan a counter-attack (she had cleverly pinned my legs against the bed with her deceptively slight body, talking on her cell phone to her nanny all the while and smiling at me sweetly) she tasered me in both wrists.
She stepped back, finished her conversation, smiled again and said "You don't have carpal tunnel syndrome. You can wait in the waiting room, thank you. Doctor will see you shortly" As I slunk to the door she asked "Are you sure you don't have pain in your neck/back/chest/jaw?" I grunted.
I repaired to the waiting room. I considered my options. I visualised myself as Angelina Jolie, but realised it was unlikely I could complete a split-second roundhouse kick to the head to render her helpless if she returned. What other diabolical plans did they have in store for me? Perhaps if I'd just opted for the cortisone injection? I longed for the days of innocence when that was the worst that could happen. I felt sorry for myself.
Hours later I was called back into his office. "It's quite bad" he said "but I don't think surgery is indicated just yet. Let's try the conservative approach first"
And so here I am, wearing a soft collar (R49 at the pharmacy, but R280 if you get it fitted by a collar specialist. Not the vet, no. This is an actual human-specialised medical-type person) and going to physiotherapy for the first time in my life. The physiotherapist worked hard to gain my trust (no innocent-looking aura machines or tasers here) She didn't ask me if I was sure about neck/back pain. She did confirm a bad soft-tissue shoulder injury (finally. Someone believed me) and gently examined my shoulder. 'Feels like you almost dislocated it' she said, shaking her head when I told her when it happened. 'Red-heads and pain' she said. 'Don't see it as a challenge' I answered. We laughed.
The collar helps (much as I hate it. I hate the restricted, strangle-you tightness of it) with the pins and needles. The drugs (and there are many, trust me) help. I am very susceptible to pain-killers, rarely venturing further than ibuprofen for fear of brain-dead dry-mouthed numbness. I now pop schedule 5 drugs regularly. My trusty bite guard at night cured the early morning lower-jaw pain (I had assumed an abscess. No - more referred pan). My chest pain was not caused by the bras being too tight, after all, but by the neck injury.I'll be damned if I'll admit it to them though.
Pain exhausts you, it sucks you in to a big black hole where that is all there is. The drugs cloud your brain so there's much fine-tuning and inner-negotiation around how many to take and when to take them. For nearly 14 weeks now I've learned about the shades and moods of this unwelcome visitor.I can't lift my left arm, so getting dressed, changing gear, showering and sleeping present challenges.I have had to pull of the road, weeping, and wait for the drugs to kick in before being able to drive again.
I understand how people give in and opt for surgery that only has a 16% success rate. I am hoping to stick it out, that the conservative approach shows results. So forgive me if I'm a little irritable and preoccupied, this pain is a demanding master.
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