Thanks to everybody for the well-wishes and empathy for Mia. I have the thread in my email to remind me to comment, but right now I feel weary and unsettled, so I hope you forgive my silence a bit longer. I don’t know anything further, because until we get the biopsy results back, we know nothing. And we may know nothing more then, either. Every time I descend into it, I start this nasty spiral of indecision, and I get sad and tired. So I’ve just tried to table it for now. Hopefully tomorrow (or maybe even later today) I have answers. In the meantime, she appears to be perfectly fine and happy. So I suppose there’s that.
So now we get to report about the other fun thing in my life. (I sometimes wonder what people think who read Special Delivery and wander over here to see inside the head of the woman who made Mitch & Sam and find… this. Oh well.) As most of you know, lately I’ve been having a lot of chronic pain, which isn’t news, but the cycles have become so short I barely get any rest at all. For double the fun, it’s affecting my arms, which means it’s affecting my work. And since even if I do get MacSpeech sussed out, I still can’t dictate a sex scene while Anna is home, and I have NO idea how I’m supposed to enter comment bubbles in Word with it, so I need my arms. To this end, I am now seeing
- a chiropractor
- a reiki therapist
- a second chiropractor who does this reflexive whosis thing
- an acupuncturist
- an MD
- a regular PT
- a "pool therapy" PT
I’d like you to enjoy, for a moment, how little of that is covered by insurance. When I get down, I go look at Special Delivery on bestseller charts and tell myself Mitch is going to take care of me. Not sure how that translates, but it’s a nice story and is getting me through.
The good news is that I think we have a diagnosis, and the best part is I keep hearing it across party lines. The trouble with my arms is not my arms: it’s the muscles associated with my scapula.
That "subscapularis" stuff is what needs some serious talking to, because essentially it is out drinking and whoring and smoking and then coming home to bitch about its sorry lot in life. What it needs to be doing is holding up my entire neck and shoulders and supporting all arm functions. So I guess I need Mitch here too, because somebody has to Dom this bitch.
And speaking of bitching. Jesus, we’ve got whiners this morning. Yesterday the regular PT showed me how I was not engaging my subscapularis muscles while I did several of my key arm exercises, and we stood there and fine-tuned it until I had it right. He also showed me how the same thing was happening in my pelvic area. So I came home and did all the excercises very carefully. They take less than half an hour, and most grandmothers could do them while carrying on a phone conversation at maxmium power. Me? Holy shit, I hurt. The right side in particular is very upset. What, work? What, hold things up? And little does it know that later today we go to pool therapy.
I am actually very happy about this. What I hate most about my condition is the nebulousness of it. It just barely has a name, and it’s fluid; last year the hips were my bugaboo, and then it was the neck, and now it’s the scapula. In the fall it will be something else. And every time I go to somebody, especially a PT, they look me in the eye and say, "You will live with this. This is not going away. You will have good days and bad days." But they also praise my attitude and work ethic. Which is nice, but I just don’t get why anybody wouldn’t fight this. Who wants to live diminished? But then, I’m a Virgo. Work is a pleasure, it really is. Working feels good. So I guess it’s just easier for me. But lately I’ve felt lost, because I was just punching blind in the dark. Now I know what I’m after: the scapula. I’m going to tough-love this little mother into functionality, and then we will all live happily ever after. Ish.