Tales of Granny Rehab

I am sitting in the waiting room of UCSF Orthopedic department, waiting for our 8 am appointment.

It took me and Rabbit, my health representative and friend, about two hours to cross the Bay Bridge in the morning traffic. We wound our way to Parnassus where the clinic is located. We parked and made it a point to remember it was Level B-Turquoise. Loosing our car in the vast parking lot is recurring nightmare of mine.

The Orthopedic Dept for the mobility afflicted is a very challenging place to find if you are actually mobility afflicted. If you can wind down and up, take two different elevators, and finally find the place, you are not really all that sick.

We made it. Satisfied with our success we sat there filling out more forms: What would you say is your pain: Pulsing? Throbbing? Is it a sharp pain? A mild pain? Is it like a knife or is it like a drill? What number would you assign to it, from one to ten? Is it a..??

We filled it all out, this time I have decided my pain level was only occasionally a five. And it was sharp. Yes. Rather sharp.

I took off my beautiful purple hat, with the tasteful yet playful twinkling stars, that decorated it. I shook my white mane free, and then forgotten about my beloved hat totally.

In the office we had another dilemma, the nurse said I should totally disrobe and sit there in the ill fitting hospital “gown.” I protested. Its about my right hip, why disrobe at all? If he wants to see my hip, its an easy slipping down the pants a few inches, and its there.

Shoes too? Oh No! My shoes are hard to get back on without a shoehorn.

Humiliated I sat there.

The same doctor came as last time, Doctor Number 11. I thought it was going to be the top guy this time, Doc Number 12, but I didn’t merit that, said Doc 11. Plus there are no new tests done. He then added because I didn’t want any more tests done. It's true I loathed the tests, blood drawn, normal, why repeat it?

So he tested my joints again. Last time he told me to go to Physical Therapy, which I didn’t do. I lied to him about that.

I tested much better, (because I didn’t do anything, just rested and took gentle walks) he said I didn’t need to come back again for six months. I asked him, what was wrong with me in the first place? Eleven doctors saw me, shook their heads, and wrung their hands, and didn’t know squat..

He finally owned up to it, “We may never know,” he said. I respected him for this.

I am faithfully going every other week to my miraculous body worker, Doctor J. He is the best intuitive doctor- he pushes my bones in place, he talks to my bones, and they obey. This was the only help to get out of the horrible spasm I managed to get into. And the steroids, which Doctors Number 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 refused to give me. I was running a fever. Doctor 7 didn’t know why. I said, I have an inflammation of the SI joint, (I Googled it up.)

The docs dismissed that as nonsense.

Dr J, however, looked it up in the medical books, and said that inflammation of the SI joint doesn’t show up on x-rays. All the cadre of docs believe nothing is wrong if it's not on x-ray or blood work. None of them showed interest in this part of the inflammation, as Google said they wouldn't. Google was one of the most helpful doctors I have had yet.

Finally we were dismissed with a follow up in September.

By the time we went out to the waiting room, my hat was gone.

I don’t know what that means. I guess I need a new pretty hat.

But I am getting better and none of the docs have done anything towards this. Eleven doctors, plus Doctor 12 who thinks he's too good to see me, but no diagnosis..

Aging sucks.