Dr. E had operated on my shoulder so when he told me my pain was not coming from the rotator cuff I believed him. One must trust individuals who have had their digits inside you. He sent me to my spine person, his hands had been under the skin on my neck, fiddling with my parts, also. He send me to a guy who tested my nerves with tiny electrical shocks to identify which one was pinched. After that I went to the hospital for a nerve block. It was a quick procedure and almost painless but it did no good. The dull aching sensation in my bicep remained and when I saw Doc Spine he told me I needed to go back to my orthopedic man.
By now I was pretty tired of the run around and said, half jokingly, that one of them better fix it because it still hurt. I could tell he was taken aback by my mini show of emotion because he seems to have none. I call him Mr. Personal. He does not care unless there is a chance he can perform surgery so when he realizes he can't, he is done with you. I've been told he does care and because he is a fine surgeon I hold that comment close.
So I'm sitting on the toilet (number 2) the morning of my final appointment and I turn, using the sore arm, to wipe. Yes, that's not pleasant but is an important part of the story. My arm began to tighten but I had lived with the pain for what seemed like a lifetime so my arm continued its route. Then I felt a pop, or a pull, or a strain and was unable to finish my job. The pain was pretty intense but I wasn't too worried because I was seeing Dr. E in a couple hours.
By the time my appointment rolled around I had some slight bruising on the inside of my elbow but I attributed that to a recent bike fall. I waited, in the examining room with my shoe off. My barefoot would remind me to question him about a hammer toe. He had previously fixed it but the toe had pulled back to its original presurgery position. It was not why I was there but I was going to get as much information as a could without another appointment. He looked and blamed it on my whacked brain. It was 'tone' and my brain was doing it. OK, let's move on.
I told him the nerve block did not work and the arm still hurt. I let him know I wasn't sure he could even check it because of the muscle strain or pull from that morning. He examined me briefly, twisted and fondled my arm, sat down casually, legs crossed and arms behind his head and told me I had severed a bicep tendon. And then with a big smile, said I had taken care of my arm issue, myself! He said my pain had probably been chronic tendinitis and that surgeons go in and sever it, for relief. Therefore, it ought to be good in about three weeks, he said with a smile. He said to come back in then but I made no appointment. I already have less pain so maybe I did fix myself!
By now I was pretty tired of the run around and said, half jokingly, that one of them better fix it because it still hurt. I could tell he was taken aback by my mini show of emotion because he seems to have none. I call him Mr. Personal. He does not care unless there is a chance he can perform surgery so when he realizes he can't, he is done with you. I've been told he does care and because he is a fine surgeon I hold that comment close.
So I'm sitting on the toilet (number 2) the morning of my final appointment and I turn, using the sore arm, to wipe. Yes, that's not pleasant but is an important part of the story. My arm began to tighten but I had lived with the pain for what seemed like a lifetime so my arm continued its route. Then I felt a pop, or a pull, or a strain and was unable to finish my job. The pain was pretty intense but I wasn't too worried because I was seeing Dr. E in a couple hours.
By the time my appointment rolled around I had some slight bruising on the inside of my elbow but I attributed that to a recent bike fall. I waited, in the examining room with my shoe off. My barefoot would remind me to question him about a hammer toe. He had previously fixed it but the toe had pulled back to its original presurgery position. It was not why I was there but I was going to get as much information as a could without another appointment. He looked and blamed it on my whacked brain. It was 'tone' and my brain was doing it. OK, let's move on.
I told him the nerve block did not work and the arm still hurt. I let him know I wasn't sure he could even check it because of the muscle strain or pull from that morning. He examined me briefly, twisted and fondled my arm, sat down casually, legs crossed and arms behind his head and told me I had severed a bicep tendon. And then with a big smile, said I had taken care of my arm issue, myself! He said my pain had probably been chronic tendinitis and that surgeons go in and sever it, for relief. Therefore, it ought to be good in about three weeks, he said with a smile. He said to come back in then but I made no appointment. I already have less pain so maybe I did fix myself!
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