At Least We Know I'm Not Pregnant

In the last year, I have suffered through several horrible nights of excruciating pain, been to the emergency room three times, received numerous steroid injections and been X-rayed several times. All of this has been because of my shoulders which occasionally try to kill me in my sleep. I believe there is something living in there that is either trying to eat it's way out or is feeding on my shoulder bones.

I can feel the discomfort growing during the day and as the days go on, I lose more and more mobility until it gets to the point that I cannot make even the slightest movement of a finger without searing pain shooting up and down my body. The animal inside gets angry when I move and starts biting me. As odd as this sounds, I grow accustomed to it and am very careful with the offending arm. I don't move it. I support it with my other hand when I am walking and I gently place it on the desk or table in front of me when I sit. I mess up and get shooting pains every now and then when I move it the wrong way and anger my inner critter, but I figure out how to deal with it.

Unfortunately, once I lay down at night, there is not much I can do. After sleeping about an hour, the blood has had time to relocate to the sore area and the pain is ten times worse making it almost impossible to turn over or even sit up. Either that or the creature eating my shoulder is nocturnal and prefers to feed at night. It is usually at this point that I give up and go to the hospital.

I have written about these visits before and they can be read here:

That Which Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Realize How Old You Are
My Experiment With Steroids
I Want to Donate My Arm to Science
Enough Vicoden and I Will Agree to Anything

This has happened enough times now that the doctors have decided that there must be something more going on than just the occasional bursitis. I told them my angry parasite theory and they don't seem to be interested. They sent me to an orthopedic doctor, who sent me to a physical therapist and ordered a sonogram. I have seen the physical therapist once and will begin treatment next week. I went in for my sonogram yesterday.

It just looks like the ocean. An ocean of BLOOD!

After several minutes of watching them look at pictures of the inside of my shoulder, I was starting to get bored. Every picture looked the same. I had no idea what she was looking for and when I asked, she said, "Anything unusual."

Looking at the monitor, I asked if the cascading blood river was something unusual. She said it was not.

I wasn't satisfied, so I asked her if she had ever found an angry animal gnawing on someone's insides. She stopped her examination and looked at me.

Sonogramoligist Person (SP): "Do you mean, like, a tapeworm?"

ME: "Do tapeworms usually crawl up into people's shoulders?"

SP: "NO!"

ME: "Then why would you suggest that? I mean something like a beaver?"

SP: "What?"

ME: "Or a woodchuck. I don't know. You're the doctor!"

She went back to examining my shoulder and didn't answer my question. Maybe it's something they aren't supposed to talk about. As she moved the magic wand thingy around to the front of my shoulder, she did ask if it hurt when she put pressure there. I assured her that it did. She didn't respond or change anything she was doing. I think she enjoys her job.

After several more minutes of awkward silence, other than her clacking the buttons on the machine, I asked what she was finding. She showed me this picture.

The first curve along the bottom is my shoulder bone. The white line on the top of it is lubricating liquid. The next curve is also bone and above that is muscle tissue.

Since the curvature of the bones appear smooth, there does not appear to be evidence of arthritis, bone spurs or other abnormalities. There even appears to be the right amount of fluid. It looks healthy. I asked, "Did you see any tooth marks? Or did you even look?" She assured me that she saw no teeth marks, but I think she was just avoiding the conversation. She didn't take me seriously and hadn't looked.

She told me to put my shirt back on. Everything looked good and I could go home. She would send my results back to the orthopedic doctor. I hesitated, "Don't I get any pictures?"

SP: "What pictures?"
ME: "My sonogram pictures."
SP: "We don't give those out."
ME: "We both know that's not true. I have seen lots of pictures of sonograms. Some women just carry them around with them."
SP:"That's because it's for their baby."
ME: "So, you admit that you do give them out."
SP: "For pregnancies."
ME: "Do they pay extra for that?"
SP:  "No. It's a complimentary service."
ME: "Do you want me to scream sexism?"
SP: "I'll get your pictures."

After a supervisor came in to find out why I wanted pictures, I gave her a similar run around and they eventually brought me a disc with my sonogram pictures. I promptly went home and popped it into my computer. After carefully scanning the pictures, I found this.

I knew it. Those shots weren't steroids.
They were monkey tranquilizers!

Enough Vicoden and I Will Agree to Anything

Proverbs 20:29

Aging sucks. As much as I want gray hair, because I think it is cool and makes a person look wise, I do not appreciate all the extra age related stuff that goes with it.

For the last year, I have been fighting a painful battle with my shoulders. I have been in the hospital 3 times for what the doctors have told me was bursitis. Read about one of those visits here. My most recent episode was last week and I was given the same diagnosis.

Since then, I have been pretty well drugged up on painkillers (I totally understand now why people take these for fun) and anti-inflammatory medication. Yesterday, I saw an orthopædic specialist, who sent me to a physical therapist today.  Thursday, I will be back at the hospital to get a sonogram on my shoulders. Maybe they think my shoulder is pregnant. I don't know. Although, it would make sense that there is something living inside there. Sometimes it feels like the bone is being gnawed on.

It is frustrating to have pain and not understand why it is happening. Luckily, my pain is not present all the time, but when it does flair up, it is horrible. I can barely move without crumbling over in agony. However, I believe this physical therapist may have found the problem. I am about to have a few very unpleasant months, but it will be worth it if he is correct.

I saw this same man about 10 years ago for a back problem that I had dealt with for the previous 15 years. He theorized that the problem was not in my back, but was a problem in my hip. A quick adjustment and a few weeks of therapy and I was cured of a major issue I had endured for over a decade.

So, when the orthopædic doctor handed me my papers and said I could go to any physical therapist I wanted, I knew who I wanted to see. At his office today, after me telling him my story of what has happened for the last year, he had me do a few movements to observe my mobility. Things like raise my arms above my head and straight out. Try to scratch my back as high as I can. Of course, I don't know what he is looking for, but he kept making small grunts. A-HA!  OK!  Uh-Huh! He would then write on his notepad.

Based on what he saw, he had me try a few more things and then told me what he thought the problem was. I have tightness in my post-blah-blob-jiggity-ascular area. This is somewhere in the back of my shoulder. Since it is so tight, it restricts my movement (which I don't even notice) and I compensate with other parts of my body, causing the flair-ups which would not be happening if I could move naturally.

He then told me that over the course of the next few months I would begin to hate him. Apparently, the exercises to fix this and stretch out the area are not pleasant. However, before he can do the therapy, I have to prepare the area at home with some pre-stretching.

According to the therapist, a shoulder with full range of motion should be able to lay their arm flat on the surface while in this position. My left arm goes to about 45 degrees before the pain kicks in and my right arm (the one I am having problems with this time) does not like to rotate at all. Pain or not, it just stops even with pressure. The muscle (or tendon or old piece of shrapnel, whatever it is) is too tight to allow for the movement. This is part of what he claims will be the reason I will not like him. Before I go back for my therapy on May 9, I should be able to get my right arm to a 45 degree angle. If not, we cannot begin treatment.

I started as soon as I got home and I have to say, I HATE THAT MAN. This sucks. Before seeing him, if I started to feel discomfort, I stopped what I was doing to find another way to accomplish my task without pain. Now, I am supposed to purposefully hurt myself in order to do it correctly.

I actually have a decent tolerance for pain. Due to my past back issues, I have dealt with pain most of my life, but this hurts. He told me that I will be very sore from these stretches and we was right. I have only done it once so far and I hurt more now than I did before I went to the hospital. According to him, they should slowly begin to stretch and I will see some progress each day. In the meantime, I am wondering what he is going to do in therapy since this is just the stretching to prepare for what is coming.

I am very happy that we are finally going to get this taken care of, but the good doctor and I may not be on speaking terms for a while after this.

I Want to Donate My Arm to Science

In past posts, I have told stories of some of the crazy things I have done (jumped out of moving cars, set myself on fire, crawled underneath moving trains, etc) and bragged about how I have never broken a bone. It is true that none of my bones have been broken, but that does not mean that I haven't done damage to my body. I was reminded of this yesterday morning.

After dropping Kirsten off at school, I noticed a small, but sharp pain in my right shoulder as I closed my vehicle door. While the pain was not much, I recognized what it was immediately. I have had it before and it usually gets much worse before it gets better.

I have written about this pain and what it does to me in two posts which can be read here.

That Which Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Realize How Old You Are
My Experiment With Steroids

This recurring problem has been diagnosed as bursitis, which in general is inflammation of the tissues in the joint. Once I first feel this coming on, the intensity grows slowly. My shoulder gets more and more distressed, restricting my movement a little each day. After about 5 or 6 days, it culminates in a horrible night, when I am unable to sleep because it hurts tremendously to even attempt to roll over. This time, it must have been in a rush.

Despite having only first felt the beginnings of this pain yesterday morning, the intensity grew quickly over the course of the day and I seriously considered if it would be worth chopping my arm off once I had been in bed for a couple of hours. Laying down allows more blood to go to the area and it begins to throb, shooting pain down my entire arm and into my back. The slightest movement multiplies the intensity.

I pushed through the night deciding to go to the emergency room in the morning. I had learned from previous experiences, that there is no point in going to my doctor, since it would take a week to get in and by then I would be dead...or wishing I was. Same thing.

Since I had taken Adam to the hospital on several occasions (here, here, here and here), I thought he might jump at the chance to  get to do the same for me. When I called him, he came over immediately. He was happy to return the favor and said so several times.

There was also a second reason I had called him. I still had full use of my other arm. I was perfectly capable of driving myself. After all, I had just driven my daughter to school. The previous times I had been to the E.R. for this problem, they asked me if I had driven myself. When I responded that I had, they responded, "Then we won't give you this shot."

The shot they were referring to was the good stuff. The ultra-super-feel-good-floating-in-the-clouds-meeting-Jesus shot. Since the pain in my shoulder is so sharp and intense, a regular painkiller does not begin to touch it, but they promised me this stuff would. I would explain that I only lived 2 blocks from the hospital. They could give it to me as I was walking out the door and I would go straight home. They declined saying that they didn't want to be the reason that I had to meet Jesus that day and never be allowed to leave. You know, because I died in an accident. The joke makes sense in my head.

Since I was in terrible pain and they had not given me the shot on previous visits because I was driving, I wanted Adam to take me so I could get it and then go back home and sleep. Because of the events of yesterday's post, Adam was going to see another doctor today. Knowing they might do a procedure on his feet or the abscesses, he had taken several strong painkillers. Thus, my attempt at staying safe behind the wheel of a car was diminished as soon as I hopped in with him. Nevertheless, he drove me in his self-induced haze.

Since I was not yet in the horrible pain as last time I was there, I was in a much better mood. And having had no sleep due to my shoulder, I had trouble following a logical line of thought.

Admitting Nurse: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Just keep cats out of this room.

Nurse: We don't allow cats in the hospital.

Me: That's good. It would probably violate some health codes.

Nurse: Anything else.

Me: Local laws, maybe. I don't know.

(Later)
Nurse: Do you have a living will?

Me: No. I am going to live forever.

Nurse: No, you won't.

Me: Yes, I will.

Nurse: No, you will not. Everyone dies.

Me: I never have. Adam, have you?

Adam: Never. Not once!

Me: Ma'am, I have been pushed off a railroad bridge, fallen out of moving cars and even took an axe in the head. I have never even broken a bone. I will live forever.

Nurse: No, you will die.

Me: Your bedside manner sucks.

The on-call doctor informed me that he has never given the steroid shot into the bursa sac of the shoulder before and was not comfortable attempting it on me. I readily agreed. He did set me up with some anti-inflammatory drugs and some painkillers to help me sleep through the night. This means it will take longer to heal and get my range of motion back, but I will be on the mend instead of it intensifying any further.

Discharge nurse: Do you know your name?

Me: Why wouldn't I know my name?

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: What's your name?

Nurse: My name is Karen.

Me: Correct.

Nurse: Tell me your name.

Me: Don't you have it on the paper your holding?

Nurse: Yes, but I need to verify it.

Me: Didn't I give you my driver's license earlier?

Nurse: Yes, you did.

Me: Did you lose it?

Nurse: No. I have it right here.

Me: Well, I am sure it is correct.

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: The same as my license.

They eventually escorted us out and despite Adam's Facebook post giving people the impression that I was dying, I am fine. I am still in a lot of pain since it takes a while for the anti-inflammatory meds to start taking effect, but I should see some improvement by tomorrow morning. I was referred to an orthopedic doctor to see if we can prevent this from happening again.

---

Followup from yesterday's post: Adam saw a surgeon today who scheduled him an appointment for tomorrow. He will be in surgery to get the abscesses drained and the staples removed from his foot that were missed during his last surgery four years ago. After recovery, he should be in a lot less pain.

My Experiment with Steroids

I have had a rough couple of days. I spent the night in the emergency room on Saturday night and have gotten very little sleep since then. I had a similar experience four months ago and wrote about it in my blog here. However, this time it was different and I did not realize it until I looked back at that blog I wrote in April. In April, I had horrible pain in my right shoulder, but this time it was in my left shoulder, so it is from something different.

Thursday night I felt some discomfort in my left shoulder. It wasn't too bad, but it was noticeable. When I woke up Friday morning, it had intensified and didn't let up all day. By Saturday, it had significantly grown worse. I felt awful pain anytime I moved it and usually had to lift it with my right hand to even put it up on a table when I sat down. I am sure it looked humorous to see me do anything. I never realized how difficult it was to do simple things like put on socks with one hand. Putting on a shirt was torture. Using only one hand wasn't the struggle; it was the pain involved with trying not to move my bad arm. The slightest movement sent sharp pains through my shoulder. I shed a lot of tears that day.

That night I went to a local trivia night fund raiser, so I was around people who saw me struggling and encouraged me to go to the hospital. My buddy, Adam, was especially forceful. He told me all night that I needed to go get it taken care of. However, since I had dealt with this before, I did not think it would be necessary. Yes, it was painful, but it would be gone in a few days. I just needed to ride it out like last time. About five hours later, I changed my mind.

I went to bed that night and took some Aleve to ease the pain. It didn't work. I could not find any comfortable position. The pain grew much worse over the next couple of hours. I couldn't adjust my blankets or even change positions without searing pain shooting through my arm. I came to the realization that sleep was not going to happen and this was obviously much worse than what I had experienced back in April. I got up and tackled the task of dressing myself again so I could go to the hospital.

I got to the E.R. about 2 a.m. and they laid me on a bed to await the doctor. The movement involved in getting myself there has made the pain much worse, so the doctor was going to get to see me at my worst. After all the preliminary questions, blood pressure checks, pulse taking, and explanations of my issue, the doctor came into the room. He introduced himself as Dr. Doolittle and I immediately laughed. The first instance of laughter caused my shoulder to throb, so I think I was able to pass it off as a wince of pain.

Doolittle (that really is his name) asked me where my shoulder hurt. As he started feeling around on it, I told him that it hurt when I moved it and it didn't really hurt to the touch. He immediately proved me wrong. He then attempted to move my arm to see what level of mobility I had. Once I relaxed and let him try, he found that it doesn't move at all without cries from me. He decided that it appeared to be bursitis.

He ordered some X-rays to be assured there was not a more serious problem. Before the X-rays, one of the nurses came in to give me a shot of anti-inflammatory medication. As I started rolling up my sleeve, she told me that she would be injecting a large amount of fluid so it would have to go in a 'meatier' area. "Drop your pants." She told me it would burn, but I am not really scared of needles, so I wasn't too worried about it.

There was so much medicine being injected that it took a while to get it all through the syringe. About 20 seconds into the injection, my butt suddenly felt like it had caught on fire. She wasn't kidding. It burned...a lot. I tried to sit still and not tense so she could finish, but it was difficult. Luckily, it subsided after a couple of minutes. It burned for the next several hours, but the intense burn was only for those first few minutes. In the meantime, I was able to get the nurse to admit I had a hot butt.

Then, it was off to radiology for my X-rays. They brought a wheelchair in for me. I don't know if I could ever get used to being pushed around in a wheelchair. It feels so strange to have someone else push me around, especially when I know I am perfectly capable of walking. However, I was glad to have it when we came back from there.

That's not going to happen!

The X-rays were not fun. In order for them to get the shots they needed, I had to position my arm where they could better see the joint. For the first one my arm basically had to hang by my side, which wasn't too bad except I had to hold it out a couple inches from my waist. Now, I can do this if I can use my right arm to support the left one, but to use the left arm muscles to hold it there was excruciating. She would get it in position and ask if that was alright. Through tears I exclaimed, "No, but take the picture quick!" She was as gentle as she could be, but it really hurt. For the next shot I needed to rotate my arm to be palm forward instead of back. This small movement surprised me in how difficult it was to do, but we got the shot. She then came out of her little anti-radiation room and informed me that I am not going to like her. She says, "For this shot I need your arm like this." She then holds up her arm like she is going to make a right turn. I knew this was not possible, since I had not raised my arm from my side for two days, but decided to give it a try. I held my left wrist with my right hand and tried to raise it. I hadn't moved it six inches when she realized that I couldn't do it. She then decided that if I could place my left hand on my right shoulder, that may expose the joint to get the shot we needed. That was much easier to do.

Back in the wheelchair, I nursed my shoulder that was now exponentially sorer than before I got there and I wondered when the anti-inflammatory medicine was supposed to kick in. The next nurse asked me if my arm was starting to loosen up yet. I told her it was worse from all the movement. Dr. Doolittle (HAHA!!) then came back in and told me that the X-rays looked fine, so he was confident that his initial diagnosis was correct. It was probably bursitis. Bursitis is inflammation of the fluid-filled sac (bursa) that lies between a tendon and skin, or between a tendon and bone. He then explained that once this gets inflamed all movement becomes extremely painful. He really didn't need to tell me that part. I was very much aware of it.

Notice the one buff arm

He then produced another syringe. "This is a Lanacane steroid," he said, "that is going to go directly into the joint to add fluid to the bursa sac." The main thing I heard was steroid. All I really knew about steroids is that they are often used by body builders to help them bulk up. I immediately thought of Freddy Rodriguez in the movie Lady in the Water. He was doing an experiment by building up one arm but not the other with weight training. If I got this shot in just one arm would I look like him? I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Either way, I was wondering what this shot would be like. This was not a surface injection like every  other shot I had ever received. This was going deep into my joint. I didn't expect this to be pleasant. I rolled up my sleeve and braced myself.

He put the needle in and had to adjust it a bit to get it into the bursa sac, but it soon found its way. It was not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. He then stated that it may start to burn, but I would need to sit still because it takes a while to get it all in there. I never really felt any burning, but my whole body got hot. When I said that, Doolittle (HAHA!!) said, "He's passing out! Lay him down!" I told them I wasn't passing out, I just got really hot. The nurses told me I had lost all color in my face and my skin got clammy. These are all signs that someone is about to pass out, but it didn't happen.

An hour later, I was headed back home with my arm hurting more than when I had gone in, but I had some pain killers and prescriptions for codeine and more anti-inflammatory medication. I had to call in sick that morning since we cannot dispatch at the Sheriff's Department while on medication. I have instructions to contact an orthopedic doctor tomorrow so it can be looked at more closely to see if there is anything more serious.

I am starting to regain some mobility in my arm today, but I am very limited. I still cannot lift anything without pain, but it has gotten much easier to get dressed. However, since I cannot afford to take off any more days of work, I have gone without the painkillers today, so I can work this afternoon. I may have to stop taking them anyway. They warned me at the hospital that codeine knocks people out, so do not drive after taking it. However, it has the opposite effect on me. It does help with the pain, but has the same effect as caffeine. I am wide awake after taking it. I can't sleep at night when I've had a dose.

I am healing and am glad to be moving around again, but I am really starting to believe that my body is out to get me. Getting old seems to have a downside.

That Which Doesn't Kill You...Makes You Realize How Old You Are

Last night was horrible and I got less than two hours sleep.  My right shoulder has been bothering me for the last few days and after being ignored, it decided to try to kill me.  I slept for about thirty minutes and then awoke feeling an intense pain when I tried to roll over.  I couldn’t adjust my blankets, move my pillows, or even sit up without almost crying.  I tried to just find a comfortable position and ignore it, but nothing seemed to work.

Every now and then it flares up, but it goes away within a couple of weeks.  Several years ago, it got pretty bad and I mentioned it to my chiropractor.  After an examination, he told me I had tendonitis.  He even showed me where the swelling was.  It hurt to the touch and that was just what he did to fix it, he touched it, a lot.  I laid back on the table as he dug his fingers deep into my flesh.  It was one of the worst pains I have ever felt.  I honestly did not know he was only using his fingers.  I thought he had some kind of sharp tool.  I knew he had not actually cut into me, but it felt like it.  It was horrible torture and I left feeling much worse than when I had gotten there, but it got better within a few days.  Whatever he did fixed it, but I do not care to ever go through that again.

As I was laying on the floor thinking about how I need this pain to stop without having to face any type of ancient Chinese torture, I reflected on why my shoulder was hurting in the first place.  It started on Sunday night.

Sunday afternoon, I was at home working on my biblical research paper proposal when my phone rang.  Jayson Ferguson called to ask what I was doing.  I told him I had to finish my proposal, so I was unavailable.  He suggested whenever I finished we should all go to the state park in Shelbyville.  I only had about an hour’s worth of work left so I agreed.  Two hours later, Kirsten and I were in Shelbyville with the Ferguson’s.

Notice how steep this is

While the adults talked and enjoyed each other’s company, our kids were running up and rolling down this insanely steep hill in the park.  The Lake Shelbyville spillway is located there and we were at the bottom.  The road wraps around to the top and there is a huge hill in between.  This is one of those hills where you have to lean way back in order to walk down and it is steep enough your feet will slip out from under you without good footing. 

We were enjoying watching them roll down the hill and making fun of them because they were doing it wrong.  As they rolled they would slowly turn and end up sideways on the hill so they weren’t rolling down anymore.  They would then have to readjust and start again.  I told them to cross their ankles so their legs would not cause them to turn.  Alex, Kirsten’s boyfriend, challenged me to show them.  At 39 years old, I do not feel the need nor any desire to roll myself down a hill at breakneck speeds.  Despite my reasonable protests, those obnoxious teenagers started to make fun of me.

Now, I do not succumb to peer pressure and was not about to get covered in grass and be itching for the rest of the evening, but I did have a point to prove.  I challenged Alex to a race down the hill on foot.  I tried to make it clear to him that this 17 year old boy was about to get beaten by a 39 year old man.  He would be shamed for thinking his youth was so wonderful.

I chose the steepest part of the hill to run down to display how fearless I was.  After looking at the hill for a moment, we took off.  I immediately took the lead.  Although I knew how steep the angle was before we started, I totally underestimated how quickly I would achieve an unstoppable speed.  It quickly grew very scary, but I was winning and intended to keep it that way.  As I felt the muscles in my legs start to knot, I suddenly started thinking about my grandmother.

When I was in junior high, we had a large plastic barrel my brothers and I loved to play with.  It was the size of a 55-gallon drum, but it was thick plastic.  Our favorite thing to do with it was take it to the top of the hill in our back yard, crawl inside it and roll down.  It was wonderful fun and we would be so dizzy when we got out we could hardly see or walk.  One day, my grandmother came home and saw us enjoying the fun of the barrel.  After watching for a while, she said she wanted to try it.  As much as I wanted to see that, it scared me a little.  What if we broke her?  However, my dad was there as well and didn’t seem to have a problem with it, so we helped her into the barrel.

Grandma was not as small or limber as us and had to get down on her knees, lean forward, sit back on her feet and then slowly shuffle into the barrel.  She didn’t even fit all the way inside and her head stuck out the end, but she said she was ready so we pushed her down the hill.  I will never forget seeing her hair bobbing up and down and she rolled to the bottom.  Once she came to a stop, we had to help her out of the barrel the same way we helped her in.  She was very dizzy and stumbled around for a while.  She said it was fun, but did not opt for another turn.  It is one of my favorite memories of her.

My mind snapped back to reality as I approached the halfway point of the hill.  This section straightens out for about fifteen feet before dropping off again.  I was grateful for this section, because I had reached a speed where I did not know if I could stop and was going to use this opportunity to slow down a little before taking on the next section.  Unfortunately, my muscles had already grown accustomed to stepping down to maintain balance and the first step onto the flat ground jarred my knee.  As much as that really hurt, my momentum was way too much to slow down and I went airborne off the next drop off.

For perspective on the size of this hill, notice the small spots that are actually Taylor and Kirsten.

With a new wince of pain and an impacting of my spine, I was amazed that I had landed on my feet.  As much as I wanted to win, my new goal was to just stay upright so I wouldn’t break anything.  However, it didn’t look like that was going to happen.  My velocity had dramatically increased to a radically uncontrollable level.  As the trembling in my calves reached a level where I swear I could hear the vibrations, I actually reached the bottom of the hill.  It took about forty feet to come to a stop and when I looked back I saw that I had at least a seventy-five foot lead.  This old man had beaten a teenager and was not going to let him forget it.  However, since my lungs were still on fire, I couldn’t talk to rub it in his face.

Since this was the close of the day, I crawled to the car and celebrated in my mind.  I got into the driver’s seat and discovered I could barely lift my arms.  I sat there puzzled as to why my arms would be hurting.  My legs were obvious, but my arms did not make sense.  As I recalled the death race down the hill, I remembered how fast I was going and how tense I was.  I was moving at such a rate, I had my fists clenched and my arm muscles were very tense.  They were moving so fast back and forth while being tensed, I think I pulled something.  Later they felt better, but were sore like I had experienced a strong workout.  However, by bedtime my shoulder had started to throb.

While my arms have gotten less and less sore as the days went on, my shoulder has intensified.  The pain is tolerable if I just let it rest by my side, but it must be supported.  Letting it hang seems to be a problem.  It is also not happy to move forward or backwards, and strongly protests at the mere thought of  being lifted.

However, as a man, it is my responsibility to deal with it until it either heals or falls off.  What else am I supposed to do?  With my 40th birthday a few months away, I am not giving any doctor an opportunity to put on his latex gloves.  My preacher once sunk a hatchet in his shin bone while on a mission trip.  In true male fashion, he pulled it out, wrapped the wound in duct tape and kept working.  I have never seen him in shorts, but as far as I know he still has both legs.  Therefore, I will ride it out.  What's the worst that could happen?


As with most experiences, I have learned something from all of this:  It takes significantly longer to type with one hand.