The first thing I'm gonna do is sign up for Ninjitsu classes!
Today I got to relieve the relief, the vindication, and the renewed hope that I'd felt in 2007 when I'd met my late endocrinologist for the very first time. I've suffered from endometriosis since I was about 16, but for whatever reason, all of my doctors focused on trying to reduce the symptoms rather than addressing the cause of the pain and illness. Obviously, that approach doesn't yield results (unless you count "dramatically worsening conditions" and "total debilitation" as results). The years of doctors throwing narcotics in my direction and trying to pressure me into allowing them to chemically induce menopause had left me feeling as though there was nothing that could really be done, that the laparoscopy I'd been requesting would never ever happen, and that maybe the reason my painful symptoms weren't responding to drug treatment was because they were all in my head.
Then I saw an endocrinologist, and he was aggrivated by my medical records and the years of suffering I'd had to endure. He performed my laparoscopy, destroyed the endometrial deposits, and by doing so he gave me my life back. I will never forget the moment I came out of the anesthesia: though the pain from the 3 freshly stitched incisions burned with a vengeance and my internal organs were all irritated from the extensive lasering and poking and prodding they'd endured, I burst into tears because the horrific pain I'd endured for years was gone. I was aware of its sudden absence immediately, even before I was fully awake, and the relief was so overwhelming I shook and sobbed for a good 15 minutes. Apparently the pain and all of the horrid symptoms hadn't been in my head after all-- in fact, Dr. Tureck had actually remarked that mine was one of the most extensive cases of endometriosis he'd ever seen. And within 45 minutes, he'd managed to burn away almost all of it, and in doing so he restored my health and my well being. It's incredibly dramatic to declare that he'd given me my life back, but when you consider how debilitating my endometriosis had become, it's really the bare truth. After the laparoscopy, I was able to eat again, I was able to walk and go to work and go shopping and spend time with my friends. I wasn't hemorraging any longer, I wasn't suffering the lethargy and weakness that comes with anemia, I was able to throw away all of the narcotics which left me foggy-headed and vulnerable. I was able to be me again, and that was the best gift in the world.
I've endured a similar saga with my back. Upon returning from Ft. Jackson, I went immediately to my original orthopedist, the doctor who had taken care of me when I'd originally fractured my spine at the age of 15. He'd told me that physical therapy and narcotics were the only thing that could be done for an injury like mine, save for a ridiculously complex and involved surgery that would land me in a 1/2-body cast for 6 months min and wouldn't even guarantee a solution. Last year, I'd tried going to a coordinated health center to see what the collective would recommend, and I was told the same thing-- drugs and physical therapy exercises to ease the tension in my muscles. Once again, I was surrounded by doctors who did a cursory X-ray and physical exam, saw the clean fracture site, felt the spasming and stiff muscles, and decided to treat the symptoms rather than address the source of the pain. You see, oral painkillers and physical therapy simply don't work for me because the muscle pain and tension is SECONDARY. The muscular spasms are a symptom, a reaction to the severe and chronic pain I experience in my spine, in the bone itself. "But it's a clean fracture. You shouldn't be feeling this level of pain. You're just tense and it's your muscles that hurt. Do these exercises." Mmmm, no, I like to think I'm in better tune with my body than you are, doc. I can tell you with all confidence that the narcotics and the physical therapy might provide some measure of very temporary, very superficial relief to my muscles, but within an hour or two I'm going to be right back where I started. Why? Because my spine hurts. It feels like a razor blade is wedged into my vertabrae. And when the pressure drops and a storm moves in, I get the very distinct sensation that I'm being stabbed in the back with a very large serrated knife. Or a hacksaw. And THAT is why my muscles spasm. The pain in my bone is so unbelievably intense that the rest of my body has a panic attack and seizes up. And so I have difficulty walking. And sitting. And just moving in general. And so in the winter, I don't even try, except to go to work (and even then I have to leave more often than I'd like because the pain is so debilitating).
I had my appointment with the specialist today. I was stressing all week long because I was terrified that it was going to be yet another "physical therapy" recommendation, another "you know, you seem to be describing pain that exceeds the norm for a clean fracture." Over the years, after hearing these refrains, I'd become afraid once again that it was psychosomatic or that I was exaggerrating. Hell, before my MRI in December, I was actually afraid that the results were going to come back perfectly normal, not even an old fracture to be seen anywhere. This is how bad all of those doctors had gotten to me. To me, "You shouldn't be feeling this kind of pain for an old fracture" eventually translated into "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, it's all in your head" over the years.
After the extreme pain I've been in for the last few weeks, I was ready to fight to the bitter death trying to convince the specialist that I needed something other than physical therapy. I spent the whole morning rehearsing the whole "it's the bone, I'm telling you the muscles are only tense and spasmy because the bone itself hurts so much" thesis. As it turned out, I'd arrived overprepared. Before they even did a physical exam on me, they told me what my records and history indicated (they being the doc and the nurse): my PCP had sent my MRI report and records to the specialist before I'd even scheduled an appointment with them, and apparently the information contained within was enough to provide a diagnosis as to why I was experiencing such extreme pain even though X-rays showed a clean fracture. A detailed interview and physical exam confirmed it: the pain I experience IS too severe for a clean fracture.
But it's exactly in line with the pain that comes from trauma-induced arthritis CAUSED by a fracture like mine.
Hey, guess what? It wasn't in my head after all. Fancy that! And the muscular problems are the direct result of the insane inflammation in the joints of my spine surrounding the fracture site. Which means no pill will help me, no physical exercise will do jack shit for me. No, we need to attack the source of the pain, and the very first thing we will try will be steroid injections directly into the inflammed joints surrounding the broken vertabrae. And when they expressed shock that no other doctor had ever even suggested this diagnosis or course of treatment to me in the past 5 years, I burst into tears. I felt exactly the way I had three years ago when Dr. Tureck expressed the same sense of disbelief and outrage that prior docs had ignored the cause of the pain and tried only superficial methods to treat the symptoms. I felt vindicated knowing that I haven't been going crazy, that I really have been suffering something real and legitimate when it was treatable all along, if only someone had listened to me. And I felt again that resurgence of hope that it's only a matter of time now before the pain is managed and I get to reclaim my life again.
As I've said before, I'm unbelievably blessed and so extraordinarily lucky in my life. I have an amazing family, wonderful friends, a job with people I enjoy being around, an AMAZING house to call my own, plenty of time and passion to devote to the things that make me happier than any other, and an all-around comfortable, blissed-out lifestyle. But I've paid for some of it through medical suffering. Twice now I've endured years of extreme debilitation while doctors more or less told me I was overreacting, that there was no reason why the percocet or oxycontin shouldn't work. And twice I've found doctors who recognized the underlying causes of those conditions, who have laid out definitive courses of treatment for attacking the source of the pain. I have such little faith in the medical community because of these experiences, but I do know that there are still doctors out there who do take the time to actually look at a patient's records and who really listen to what that patient says. I don't appreciate doctors insinuating that I'm a hypochondriac or overdramatic when they don't even take the time to listen to what I'm describing or do more than poke my back and throw drugs at me. But I pledge my heart to the docs who ask the right questions, who scrutinize the MRI report, and who recognize that sometimes a fracture isn't just a fracture, that if the pain I'm describing sounds to be too intense for a clean fracture, then they'd better figure out just what else is going on.
So I don't just have a compression fracture. I happen to have arthritis around the fracture site. And THAT'S what's been crippling me when the weather turns. I go for my first round of injections on Tuesday, my second round the Tuesday after that, and we'll take it from there. And he assured me that if this particular treatment doesn't work, there are others we can try, none of which involve physical therapy or narcotics. He's identified the true cause of the pain, and he's determined to attack it so that I can go back to being me again.
Suddenly, it's a lot easier to deal with this pain. It's still excruciating. But there's relief in sight.
Then I saw an endocrinologist, and he was aggrivated by my medical records and the years of suffering I'd had to endure. He performed my laparoscopy, destroyed the endometrial deposits, and by doing so he gave me my life back. I will never forget the moment I came out of the anesthesia: though the pain from the 3 freshly stitched incisions burned with a vengeance and my internal organs were all irritated from the extensive lasering and poking and prodding they'd endured, I burst into tears because the horrific pain I'd endured for years was gone. I was aware of its sudden absence immediately, even before I was fully awake, and the relief was so overwhelming I shook and sobbed for a good 15 minutes. Apparently the pain and all of the horrid symptoms hadn't been in my head after all-- in fact, Dr. Tureck had actually remarked that mine was one of the most extensive cases of endometriosis he'd ever seen. And within 45 minutes, he'd managed to burn away almost all of it, and in doing so he restored my health and my well being. It's incredibly dramatic to declare that he'd given me my life back, but when you consider how debilitating my endometriosis had become, it's really the bare truth. After the laparoscopy, I was able to eat again, I was able to walk and go to work and go shopping and spend time with my friends. I wasn't hemorraging any longer, I wasn't suffering the lethargy and weakness that comes with anemia, I was able to throw away all of the narcotics which left me foggy-headed and vulnerable. I was able to be me again, and that was the best gift in the world.
I've endured a similar saga with my back. Upon returning from Ft. Jackson, I went immediately to my original orthopedist, the doctor who had taken care of me when I'd originally fractured my spine at the age of 15. He'd told me that physical therapy and narcotics were the only thing that could be done for an injury like mine, save for a ridiculously complex and involved surgery that would land me in a 1/2-body cast for 6 months min and wouldn't even guarantee a solution. Last year, I'd tried going to a coordinated health center to see what the collective would recommend, and I was told the same thing-- drugs and physical therapy exercises to ease the tension in my muscles. Once again, I was surrounded by doctors who did a cursory X-ray and physical exam, saw the clean fracture site, felt the spasming and stiff muscles, and decided to treat the symptoms rather than address the source of the pain. You see, oral painkillers and physical therapy simply don't work for me because the muscle pain and tension is SECONDARY. The muscular spasms are a symptom, a reaction to the severe and chronic pain I experience in my spine, in the bone itself. "But it's a clean fracture. You shouldn't be feeling this level of pain. You're just tense and it's your muscles that hurt. Do these exercises." Mmmm, no, I like to think I'm in better tune with my body than you are, doc. I can tell you with all confidence that the narcotics and the physical therapy might provide some measure of very temporary, very superficial relief to my muscles, but within an hour or two I'm going to be right back where I started. Why? Because my spine hurts. It feels like a razor blade is wedged into my vertabrae. And when the pressure drops and a storm moves in, I get the very distinct sensation that I'm being stabbed in the back with a very large serrated knife. Or a hacksaw. And THAT is why my muscles spasm. The pain in my bone is so unbelievably intense that the rest of my body has a panic attack and seizes up. And so I have difficulty walking. And sitting. And just moving in general. And so in the winter, I don't even try, except to go to work (and even then I have to leave more often than I'd like because the pain is so debilitating).
I had my appointment with the specialist today. I was stressing all week long because I was terrified that it was going to be yet another "physical therapy" recommendation, another "you know, you seem to be describing pain that exceeds the norm for a clean fracture." Over the years, after hearing these refrains, I'd become afraid once again that it was psychosomatic or that I was exaggerrating. Hell, before my MRI in December, I was actually afraid that the results were going to come back perfectly normal, not even an old fracture to be seen anywhere. This is how bad all of those doctors had gotten to me. To me, "You shouldn't be feeling this kind of pain for an old fracture" eventually translated into "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, it's all in your head" over the years.
After the extreme pain I've been in for the last few weeks, I was ready to fight to the bitter death trying to convince the specialist that I needed something other than physical therapy. I spent the whole morning rehearsing the whole "it's the bone, I'm telling you the muscles are only tense and spasmy because the bone itself hurts so much" thesis. As it turned out, I'd arrived overprepared. Before they even did a physical exam on me, they told me what my records and history indicated (they being the doc and the nurse): my PCP had sent my MRI report and records to the specialist before I'd even scheduled an appointment with them, and apparently the information contained within was enough to provide a diagnosis as to why I was experiencing such extreme pain even though X-rays showed a clean fracture. A detailed interview and physical exam confirmed it: the pain I experience IS too severe for a clean fracture.
But it's exactly in line with the pain that comes from trauma-induced arthritis CAUSED by a fracture like mine.
Hey, guess what? It wasn't in my head after all. Fancy that! And the muscular problems are the direct result of the insane inflammation in the joints of my spine surrounding the fracture site. Which means no pill will help me, no physical exercise will do jack shit for me. No, we need to attack the source of the pain, and the very first thing we will try will be steroid injections directly into the inflammed joints surrounding the broken vertabrae. And when they expressed shock that no other doctor had ever even suggested this diagnosis or course of treatment to me in the past 5 years, I burst into tears. I felt exactly the way I had three years ago when Dr. Tureck expressed the same sense of disbelief and outrage that prior docs had ignored the cause of the pain and tried only superficial methods to treat the symptoms. I felt vindicated knowing that I haven't been going crazy, that I really have been suffering something real and legitimate when it was treatable all along, if only someone had listened to me. And I felt again that resurgence of hope that it's only a matter of time now before the pain is managed and I get to reclaim my life again.
As I've said before, I'm unbelievably blessed and so extraordinarily lucky in my life. I have an amazing family, wonderful friends, a job with people I enjoy being around, an AMAZING house to call my own, plenty of time and passion to devote to the things that make me happier than any other, and an all-around comfortable, blissed-out lifestyle. But I've paid for some of it through medical suffering. Twice now I've endured years of extreme debilitation while doctors more or less told me I was overreacting, that there was no reason why the percocet or oxycontin shouldn't work. And twice I've found doctors who recognized the underlying causes of those conditions, who have laid out definitive courses of treatment for attacking the source of the pain. I have such little faith in the medical community because of these experiences, but I do know that there are still doctors out there who do take the time to actually look at a patient's records and who really listen to what that patient says. I don't appreciate doctors insinuating that I'm a hypochondriac or overdramatic when they don't even take the time to listen to what I'm describing or do more than poke my back and throw drugs at me. But I pledge my heart to the docs who ask the right questions, who scrutinize the MRI report, and who recognize that sometimes a fracture isn't just a fracture, that if the pain I'm describing sounds to be too intense for a clean fracture, then they'd better figure out just what else is going on.
So I don't just have a compression fracture. I happen to have arthritis around the fracture site. And THAT'S what's been crippling me when the weather turns. I go for my first round of injections on Tuesday, my second round the Tuesday after that, and we'll take it from there. And he assured me that if this particular treatment doesn't work, there are others we can try, none of which involve physical therapy or narcotics. He's identified the true cause of the pain, and he's determined to attack it so that I can go back to being me again.
Suddenly, it's a lot easier to deal with this pain. It's still excruciating. But there's relief in sight.