The One that got Away~A Lost Year~ part 15

The trip to the ER, just as miserable as I feared, revealed few answers.

Yes, I had yet another concussion. By the time I was ushered back behind the magic curtain, my neck was singing! and no I did not have a broken arm. This a surprise to all. While I had officially lost my title as Velcro Butt, my never having a broken bone record stood.

Given pain pills, a cervical collar and a promise I would be sore by morning, I went home and fell into bed.

I woke to intense pain, not only in my arm but ribs as well. Oh did I mention neck and headache?

Feeling certain ER doc had to have missed something, I made appointment with my family practitioner for that same afternoon. Clearly something was missed in the ER exam.

Dr. R confirmed I had separated my ribs, only to explain I would have been better off to have broken them. Apparently the soft tissue in the space between the ribs had been torn. This takes longer to heal than broken ribs and easier to re injure. Also more painful. This I believed.

He thought the headache to be related to the concussion; the neck pain to whiplash. He suggested another film of the arm, which he could do in house. Those results were in quickly, and again no sign of a break. This still did not explain the weakness and pain when attempting to lift the arm. Doc decided perhaps it just a severe sprain.

Weeks later I found myself back in Doc's office. My condition seemed to be getting worse, not better. I couldn't sleep because of the pain. I had learned to wrap my own ribs, this being a help. Al least my ribs felt stationary when wrapped; otherwise they felt as if they all were floating and shifting around in the thoracic cavity. Upon discovering this, Doc had a fit. Explaining the dangers to me(restriction of lungs resulting in pneumonia) I promised I would no longer wrap.

During this visit he decided to refer me to an orthopedist.

The MRI revealed I had a slight tear in left rotator cuff, which explained the weakness and inability to lift arm. The tear, slight enough not to require surgery, didn't seem to concern him.The supraspinatus muscle left him with a gleam in his eye. This muscle was one of four considered to be part of the rotator cuff. If (and this is a big if, as my brain had shut down ) this muscle was ever torn completely in half, I'd be wearing my shoulder around my waist. He continued to explain my shoulder was being held in place with no more than what looked like cobwebs. One more jerk or tear and I was looking at a very complicated surgical repair. I immediately was put in a contraption called a shoulder stabilizer; although it pains me to admit, my shoulder felt better instantly.

His hope was enough scar tissue would develop over time to take over the task of the actual muscle. At this point, I would start physical therapy.

How long? He had no idea. No driving, no lifting, no laundry, no vacuuming. I had hit the mother load!!!! I could NOT do those things for months! He even put it in writing, for Lonnie's benefit. whoo-hoooooo! I would cowgirl up and follow his instructions, no matter the cost! Then I could count a cowgurl's blessing and bask in the light of no housekeeping! I was liking this doc more and more.

He prescribed even stronger pain pills along with a weeks supply of oral steroids. Went over the use and abuse of both and sent me on my way, with the understanding I would come back in one week.

Steroids worked great for the pain! After the first day I could tell a difference in my arm. My neck, however was killing me! I tried heat, I tried ice. I stretched. I took pain pills; they barely took the edge off. I had concluded the strap connected to stabilizer, had aggravated the whiplash even more. Without ortho knowing, I started sleeping without it. It helped.

I'm unsure how much time had passed. All I did was run to appointments and develop more symptoms. My arm was feeling much better; wish I could say the same for head and neck.

I had starting having headaches. I don't mean garden variety headaches either. I'm talking curled in fetal position, crying, dark room, throwing up, pray to die headaches. When I could stand it no longer, someone would drive me to Doc R's office, and like putting an animal down, shoot me with something to knock me out. This was the only time I found relief. I always had a headache, the severity was the only thing that varied.

Finally, Dr. Ortho decided to preform another MRI. He was certain the neck pain was related to shoulder injury, referred pain was his bet.

The weather was beginning to change. Fall would come a courting soon. The shadows were getting longer; the sun hanging lower in the sky. I fell on May 8. I had missed the entire summer. Time I would never get back. I had gone through three rounds of steroids, only to gain 20 pounds. Each round made me meaner than the last and altered my thinking. Yes, I think a second MRI might be in order.

To every one's surprise I had 5 herniated discs in my neck. When swollen and inflamed 2 of the 5 were pushing on my spinal cord. Not the answer I wanted, but an answer.

Dr. Ortho then went into a lengthy explanation of what would need to be done to remove the pressure on the spinal cord and involved nerves. I listened horrified not fully taking in what I was hearing. And of course, for now, another round of oral steroids and another shot in my shoulder. While the steroids worked all too well for the pain, they were making me mean. Seems with each round I became more nervous and aggressive. Coupled with the additional weight I was sure to pack on, I became less and less desirable to be around.

Surgery was not an option, no matter how great the pain. I had spent ten years working on back and neck surgeries gone wrong. Usually hearing the pain had only worsened after surgery. No, I was willing to try almost anything but surgery.

With the arm somewhat healed, I was able to drive and proceed with a semi normal life. Despite Dr. Ortho's best effort, my neck was still a wreck. It took so little to aggravate and inflame those discs. Dr. O had just about convinced me I would never ride again.

In the beginning when he brought this subject to the fore, I dismissed him. With every visit I asked,"When can I ride again?" His answer never wavered," Your riding days are over."

The first time he told me to hang up my saddle, he suggested needlepoint or scrap booking as hobbies. I recall shouting," Do I look like someone who would do needlepoint?!!!"

He was a good man; overlooked my outburst, and can only assume he contributed my behavior to pain and steroids.

A year had passed since the fall. I had received six steroid shots in my shoulder and taken five oral packs of steroids, in addition to a couple of rounds of physical therapy. Still the headaches persisted. The forty extra pounds I carried made my knees hurt. I didn't recognize myself any longer. My thoughts were not my own. Whether due to the meds or depression I don't know.

For most of the last year I refused to believe I would never ride again. I held on to that one hope with dogged determination. Now, I was beginning to be a bit more realistic.

Maggie had not been ridden in a year. She needed a job. I couldn't even ride in a car for more than an hour without my neck flaring. I felt as if I had failed. I wasn't tough. I couldn't take it any longer. I had so little quality of life.

My thoughts turned to John Walker. In his late sixties a horse had stood up and fallen smack on top of him, shattering all bones from the pelvis down. He was told he would walk with a walker or cane the rest of his life. Horses? He certainly would never ride again. Being a man of few words, he responded, " I'll be damned." It took him a year; all docs were proven wrong. John Walker not only rode again; he went back to training his 2 year olds. I never saw him on a cane.

For the first time I was glad he was dead. Tom too. Both men had surpassed the most difficult of health issues, only to amaze all of their medical professionals. Me? Most days I could be found sniveling under the covers with ice packs on my neck. Both men would have been ashamed of me. I was ashamed of me.

I had started having muscle spasms beginning in the neck only to crawl to the right side of my face. These spasms were strong enough to pull my mouth and right eye almost to my temple. Originally I thought I was having a stroke. I was grotesque looking; like something out of a bad Stephen King movie. This pain made all headaches pale in comparison. There was nothing to do but wait for the spasm to pass.

I was being swallowed by depression. Oh wait! Another pill. If the antidepressants helped, I couldn't tell. I remained in a cocoon of pain. To be honest, I didn't want to be here any more. I was nothing but a burden to my family. Worse than that, I was certain I had outlived my usefulness.

My thoughts were scaring even me. There had to be someone out there to help me. I remembered one of Toms' favorite docs at Baylor. I prayed he remembered me. I decided to call.

I was shaking as his office phone rang. A real person answered. That in itself was encouraging.

His receptionist did in fact remember me and my Dad. I tried to explain why I was calling but instead broke down, crying into the phone. She was wonderful. Waited for me to calm down, fully ready to give me her complete attention.

" I need the best neck doc in the metroplex." She excused herself to personally ask Dr.C. his opinion. Within seconds she was back on the line, relaying his info. " Dr.C said their is only one doc he would allow touch his neck. That would be Dr.B over at Presby. You will have quite a wait. Would you like us to call Terri and get you in sooner?" "Yes!" was all I was able to spit out.

Dr. Bs' office called within the hour. He could see me the first week of June. He would complete his own tests, including more x-rays and another MRI. I was to bring a list of all the meds I currently took. The paper work was extensive; come early.

I looked down at the date I had jotted down. My appointment was exactly 13 months to the day of the fall.

For the first time in months, I felt hope stir within me.