For the last couple of months, I've been doing a balancing act because of a painful shoulder. My whole approach to medicine, doctors, and ailments is the "less is more" philosophy. Give it time, it'll go away. By the time the holidays were here, I was beginning to realize that this was not going away, despite the whole regime of hot packs, cold packs, exercise, massage, Tylenol, and the occasional Bombay Sapphire martini.
I gave it one more chance because I wanted to get through the holidays without a visit to the doctor's office. I hate doctor's offices because they are germy and have sick people in them. Plus, it's so damned intrusive. Open my mouth and say "awwwww". Why?
This week, after a sleepless weekend, I decided to bite the bullet and go see my internist. He's a great guy and understands and sometimes even applauds my aversion to all things medical, (that is, unless it's a problem that has gone on for two months and I'm just now coming in for a consult).
This time I didn't have to disrobe (always a good sign) but the good doctor had me do a variety of movements (most of which caused me to yelp with pain). His conclusion was that I probably have a rotary cuff tear. I submit to you that this diagnosis made me shake my head with abject confusion. How in the hell could my son being a Rotarian cause my shoulder to hurt? The other thing that came immediately to mind was "Roter Rooter" because if rotary cuff tear doesn't sound like a plumbing problem, I don't know what does! Because I didn't want to look dumb (as in stupid, not speechless), I didn't ask what the hell my rotary was and why it had a cuff.
With a prescription for pain medication and the phone number for an orthopedic surgeon (now ask me how much I like the sound of that!), I left the office and came back home. I have an appointment with the specialist next week. Martini anyone?
