Somewhere long ago–like many of us have done in our wild young days–I hurt myself and didn’t know the extent. I try to think of an individual incident that may pinpoint some exact day of damage but there are way too many ouches to sift through: I’ll never know. It is of no importance now.
Near a decade ago I began breaking down, hurting when doing heavy labor activities. My back was forcing me to ‘act my age’. It was not so difficult to deal with at first: having an ache and taking some over-the-counter stuff to make it go away after a long day of muscling. But it got worse, and worse. Over recent years I could no longer help others out with big lifting & moving jobs, couldn’t do the hard work I was happy to help with, couldn’t climb up or crunch into small areas to fix things where others dared not, couldn’t rough-house the grandkids while visiting…Couldn’t: I hate that word.
I worked toward self-help with sub-standard Primary Care Physicians; got sent to physical therapy (good), got prescribed stronger and stronger medications; was told it was “just arthritis” after one recent doctor took an X-Ray. I did my part but felt the only things I got for trying were steep bills, deep doubts and weak explanations (misdiagnoses) for my back issues. After one complaining session with J., she agreed that my doctor was more Mallard than Medical, and she did me better than I’d ever imagined by simply getting me in as a patient of her Doctor, G. From an X-Ray readout (not seeing the image itself) she diagnosed my back issues and started sending me to accomplished specialists to grasp the scope of my injured back and work toward better health.
Here I am, less than two weeks out from spine surgery to repair and fuse broken vertebrae and worn away discs from trauma long ago. I’ve been told to expect eighty percent pain reduction–that, my friends, was a figure to inspire hope I haven’t had for years. I’m working through recovery, anticipating renewed activities like hiking and more adventurous outdoors activities. I can expect renewed ability to assist with the heavier-handed jobs I enjoy doing. I already have more tools to keep my back in shape and will soon start physical therapy to insure the money spent on surgery is more an investment than a coin tossed at a patch I’m not willing to earn.
As for the hospital care after surgery, there is a tale of unfathomable pain and woe I will soon tell you. For now I will end this post with positives I plan to enjoy with this old man’s repaired back.
©2011 Stumpar Scribbles
