Tag Archives: chiropractor

A Plan B

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After the shock of “Everything is normal,” passed, I brushed off the depression and started thinking. I grabbed a folder, threw the pictures of my intestines and all of the remaining paperwork from the procedure into it, and labeled it

Medical History
Mystery Autoimmune Disease

I grabbed a Post-it note sheet — love those things! — and listed all of the doctors I’ve seen in the last three years:

  • Dr. F, my pediatrician when all of this started
  • Dr. M1, the orthopedic surgeon and hand specialist
  • Dr. L, the physical rehab specialist and nerve test conductor
  • Dr. R, the chiropractor
  • Dr. D, the general practitioner (my first grownup doctor)
  • Dr. G1, the neurologist
  • Dr. M2, the rheumatologist
  • Pam, my PA-C
  • Dr. G2, another rheumatologist
  • Dr. Z, my gastroenterologist

Ten doctors, in three years.

I decided that I would call each of these doctors and have them send me a copy of my medical records. I don’t have everything, even though I should. After I get the biopsy results on Tuesday — and I’m sure they will show absolutely nothing wrong, because this is the story of my life — I’m going to see Pam about getting into Yale to see a specialist, maybe an endocrinologist or another rheumatologist. Then, I’m going to copy all of my records, go to whichever new specialist the dice roll gives me, and I’m going to lay it all out for him or her.

Maybe she or he will put all of the puzzle pieces together and notice something no one else noticed or thought significant, Mystery Diagnosis style.

Having this new plan gives me control again. I don’t feel helpless as long as there is a Plan B.

Now, in the event that my biopsy does show something, well, I guess we’ll see.

Round and round the merry-go-round

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On Wednesday, when I went to see my chiropractor, I asked him if I should be feeling better by now.

“Well, don’t you?” He stood leaning against the stand-up desk built into the wall of the small room. He flipped through my file. “You had back pain, neck pain, and pain in your arms, but now your back and neck are better, right?”

“My back and my neck, yeah, but it’s my arms. I don’t really care about my neck and back.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “I don’t want to be the one to throw in the towel, but if you’re not feeling any difference there’s really no point in you coming.”

I felt my world crashing down. “Are there any medications I can take?”

“Well, since your symptoms are so sporadic and you don’t have just one target area, it’s kind of hard to prescribe something.”

I nodded. “But you definitely think it’s thoracic outlet syndrome, right?”

He shook his head. “That’s the closest diagnosis I can come to, but here again, your symptoms are so sporadic. Thoracic outlet patients don’t usually have bilateral symptoms, either. Thoracic outlet syndrome patients usually respond really well to this, too.” He paused and looked at me thoughtfully. “I don’t even know where to send you, because you’ve already been through the mill.”

“Yeah,” I squeaked.

“I can suggest acupuncture. Let me go get you a card. You put yourself back together.” He closed the door and I stood there, in sweats and a gown.

“Fuck,” I said, and tore off the gown. I yanked my shirt and coat on and went into the hall.

“Here’s the card,” Dr. Rosa said. “Dr. Zhong does acupuncture.”

“Really?” My voice felt flat. Dr. Zhong stood there and smiled at me sympathetically. I wondered if she could do the acupuncture, but the name on the card was someone else’s, in another town. “Well, thanks,” I said.

“Keep doing the exercises, see if you notice a pattern, and give me a call in two weeks and let me know how you’re doing.” He smiled at me, and I tried to smile back.

I paid my co-pay and the girl behind the counter asked if I would be coming back next week. “No,” I said. We exchanged Happy Thanksgivings and I left.

I have to give him credit, for not stringing me along and continuing to take my money even though it wasn’t working. And he does seem to genuinely care. I’m still fucked, though.

I’m still back to square one.

Life is killing me

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Nothing about today is good. My back pain is back; I spent last night tossing and turning because not only was it in my lower back but also in my front hips. I also had a bad dream, so all in all it made for a pretty sleepless night. I dreamed I was some blond runaway and my runaway, brunette and abusive boyfriend got me knocked up. He beat me up so bad that I had a miscarriage. The dream flickered to me lying on a hospital table to me in some house where everyone was dead and I had a gun to defend myself from — I’m assuming — my abusive dream boyfriend. Talk about a vivid — and somewhat depressing — mind. I don’t dream that vividly very often, but when I do they’re usually really crazy.

Maybe I’m having more issues with what happened to me than I initially thought.

I went to the chiropractor this afternoon and then to Wal-Mart. I got some stuff to make cards with for the Letters of Love Greeting Card Challenge and stuff for my crafts class on Monday. I also got some sugar cookie mix, which was a pick-me-up — at the time.

Then I got home, and all hell broke loose. Mike and I got into a fight, Lauren and I got into a fight, and now I have no energy to get anything done that I need to get done. I have piles upon piles of things to do, and it’s so overwhelming that I don’t want to do any of it. I hung out with Nikki last night and although it was a nice break it’s just another reminder that I hardly ever get to just relax. Even when I’m hanging out with my friends or Mike, my mind is constantly racing, thinking of all the things I need to get done. I can’t relax, because I’m too busy being preoccupied with what I think I should be doing instead of having fun.

To top it off, my McAfee subscription is expired. I probably shouldn’t be online right now.

On a scale of one to ten, I'd like to scream.

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Sometimes I feel like the world’s biggest liar. Okay, not a liar. But I do feel like people may think I’m lying. Do I sound paranoid? Stay with me. I’ll explain.

I go to the chiropractor every Wednesday. Today was my fourth visit, and Dr. Rosa — my regular doctor — is on vacation. The chiropractic assistant (massage therapist?) always asks me how I’m feeling and to rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. Sounds pretty basic, right?

It’s not. When she asked me today, I said, “Well, my back is all better, as long as I’m very careful about how I sit and stuff.”

“Good,” she said, making a note. “And your neck?”

“My neck is — well, it’s stiff — but it’s more my arms.”

“And how would you rate the pain?”

“Well, it’s so on and off it’s hard to tell. I guess… a six?”

It is so hard to explain to someone something that isn’t always there, or plays musical chairs. Like, when my back hurt I could say, “it was an eight all day today, but now it’s about a five,” or “it’s been a four today.” With my arms, one spot could be a three, another could be a nine, yet another could be a six and another could be a 999939572359i27t59275. The next day I could have a pain number of two in my wrist for a few minutes, ten in my upper arm thirty minutes later, then sharper pain in my wrist. The scale system really doesn’t work, unless I were to walk around with a notepad noting each spot and the scale number. That would get awfully tedious. I mean, I have a hard enough time doing things as it is because of this. If I were to stop each and every time just to write it down, I’d never get anything done!

Besides, what would I do at the end of the day? Find the mean, median and mode of all of the numbers? Would those calculations be, like, the final scale number I give to the people at my chiropractor’s office? In that case, I’d better pick up a notepad and a calculator.

PS: I’ve edited all of my pre-diagnosis posts and put them in the Thoracic Outlet Syndrome category, if anyone is interested in reading them from the beginning. There are probably — no, definitely — more that I haven’t gotten to. I’ll get there. Eventually. chronic pain posts and put them in the Weird Arm Problem category. That’s all I’ve got right now. Thoracic Outlet Syndrome sounded way, way cooler. Sigh.