Doctor Visit

I went to the doctor yesterday, a doctor who specializes in hand, upper extremity, and microvascular surgery. I wrote about another doctor visit before and it wasn't good so it seems only right that I should discuss yesterday's experience.

I've had trouble with my left shoulder and arm for many months. I'm not even sure when I injured it but I'm pretty sure of how I injured it. There was this Wii fitness challenge where you had to lie flat on the floor and stand up using only one hand and do it 5 times in some short period of time. I couldn't do it. But I did. And I knew I'd hurt something when I did it.

Of course, I always think time will heal injuries of this type so I did nothing until I saw my regular doctor last Fall on another matter. At that time I mentioned that my arm (and shoulder) had been giving me trouble for some time. He gave me a cortisone injection and after the initial soreness it felt great - for about a month. Then it flared up again.

Finally, during the follow-up for my Christmas season illness, I mentioned it again and told him I just wanted to rule out anything really dire like bone cancer so he sent me for an MRI. The MRI showed some rotator cuff or tendon damage - not severe but damage just the same. So he sent me to Dr. Anderson at the Bone and Joint Institute in Valparaiso.

What kind of woman am I? When I called to make the appointment, I was asked which Dr. Anderson I wanted to see - the husband or the wife - both with the same specialty. Every instinct in my body said that I wanted to see the husband. Why? I don't know. I guess it's old school thinking. Somehow it felt like a man would be more appropriate for bone and joint problems - or something - I don't know. Anyway, Dr. Anderson, the wife, was the first available (a bad sign? or just a victim of people with archaic thinking like myself?) so I felt compelled, reluctantly, to choose her.

My appointment was less than a week away and I received a ream of papers in the mail to fill out along with instructions on every single little item that I needed to take with me. Ugh.

But, as I filled out those papers, I began to appreciate the logic of it all. Everything that I needed - medical history, prescriptions with their strengths and dosages, and insurance names and numbers - was right here at my fingertips. Further, I had time to get the pictures from the MRI so that I could take them in too.

I walked in for my appointment and felt like the most organized person in the world. The ream of papers also had an appointment card and an address along with driving instructions so I was there in plenty of time too.

I sat down with a really good magazine and enjoyed a cappuccino from the machine in the waiting room. Then I had x-rays and a visit with a nurse. That visit was followed by a visit with the Physician's Assistant which was followed by a visit with the Doctor herself. I liked her. I liked the whole experience - except for the painful injection in my shoulder where I personally don't think it should have been. (Apparently a rotator cuff injury can hurt down into your arm where I'm experiencing the most pain. We'll see how this plays out.)

Anyway, I was so impressed with the facility that I opted to have the prescribed physical therapy there, too. It's a bit of a drive; however it is near Beth's house so that mitigates the extra gas expense, right? (Fair warning, Beth)

I go back in about six weeks so we'll see what happens.

(The doctor did say it could be treated with easy outpatient arthroscopic surgery and I couldn't help but wish they would just do that because it's hard for me to believe that torn tissue will repair itself with physical therapy but here I am making judgments again. Supposedly I'll develop some muscles that will take the strain off the damaged tissue. But, do I really want to go around with damaged tissue for the rest of my life? Won't the problem come back when I quit doing the bothersome physical therapy?)

See I really am like my Dad. He never agreed with doctors either. The only difference is that I don't argue. I just wait and see.

And, like I said. We'll see in about six weeks.

Grandpa and Dad and I

Lately, my dad has been very much on my mind. He died over a year ago in a nursing home and, somehow, no matter how much I visited, I always felt like I failed him on some level.

I miss him now. He loved me and I loved him. I believe we had a mutual respect for each other but we always butted heads somehow. Of the four of us kids, I was the one who stood up to him when his words or actions defied my sense of fairness and logic. That frustrated a man who was accustomed to being unquestioningly obeyed.

I just heard a song on Pandora about a guy who sang that he'd be ridin' in car #9 and it reminded me of Dad.

Back in his day, he did a lot of traveling by train but not the kind of train that we'd travel on. He hopped rides on boxcars and traveled from Indiana to Washington state, through North Dakota and Minnesota and back again. Dad feared nothing and no one and he did what he had to do to get where he needed to be.

But I muse often about this sad story:

My grandpa and grandma were estranged when Dad was young. I think Grandpa was a bit of a drinker and Grandma was intolerant of his antics. He left and no one heard from him for many years. So Dad grew up without his father. He did, however, have three older brothers who taught him the ways of the world - good AND bad.

Anyway, when Dad was probably in his early twenties he somehow connected with his Dad again. They talked on the phone and Grandpa said that Dad should come up to Idaho and see him.

Dad, who was living in Indiana at the time, said, "Okay, I'll grab a handful of boxcar and be there in a few days". Grandpa said, "well if that's the only way you can come, you better stay where you are". My stubborn Dad said okay and never went and they didn't speak again until Grandpa was a very old and confused man. What a shame. I think Grandpa was trying in his late and misguided way to finally be a caring father and Dad was too stubborn to hear that. All he heard was, "don't come".

They were both stubborn and they both believed in their rightness.

I suspect Dad and Grandpa were as alike as Dad and I were.

Ryan Matthew

What a great kid!

Eighteen years ago today we welcomed our second grandchild into the family. He was born in LaPorte, a town about 10 minutes away, at 4:17 a.m. weighing 9 lbs 3 oz. He was 23 inches long and his feet were so large that his footprints covered part of the wording on his birth certificate.

From the time he was very little, he was loving and friendly to everybody. And I mean everybody.

He and his one older cousin, Amber, got along famously.

And they both welcomed our third grandchild -Ryan's brother, Jared - with open arms.

And speaking of Ryan's brother, he's always been close and loving with him. They are such a fun pair.

Here they are doing a parody of the rap song, Hey You There, last Christmas. That was awesome!!!

Ryan was equally welcoming to his baby sister, Emily, although I haven't seem them do any parodies together yet.

From the youngest age, Ryan has always had athletic tendencies.

And he plays both varsity football and baseball in high school.

We should have known he'd be a good athlete when he starting sporting this look and playing Spongebob Ball.

In addition to his athletic skills, he was academically gifted too and started 'pretend' reading at a really early age.

He's always been a good boy who seldom required punishments like this:

And last Spring (how is it possible?), he was old enough to attend his Junior prom.

Ryan lives far away from us now near Lincoln NE so I can't tell you a lot about his day to day life but I can tell you this. Ryan is one of the greatest kids you'd ever want to meet. He's kind and loving and has a wonderful sense of humor.

We're so proud of you, Ryan, and hoping this birthday is your best so far; and that they just keep getting better and better.