by Heineken » Thu 01 Mar 2007, 00:45:21
$this->bbcode_second_pass_quote('JustWatch', '
')Someone above said, “learned to walk, twice.” Me too! I had a very bad motorcycle accident two years ago . . .
I have an inkling of what you went through, JustWatch (yours is a very impressive story, BTW).
I didn't learn to walk twice, but I did twice learn to use my arms and hands.
About 3 years ago I was suffering from tennis elbow (lateral epicondylitis) in my right arm, the result of overwork here on my place. The doctor advised me to wear a brace on my forearm just below the elbow; he said it would take the strain off the joint. So I bought the brace (sort of like a blood-pressure cuff, with a Velcro closure) and started wearing it. Boy did it help! Relieved the pain and brought back my strength.
So I kept on with the chainsaw and the paintbrush and the shovel and the pickax and the rake and the loppers and all the other arm-intensive stuff I'm constantly doing here. When I found myself getting tennis elbow in my left arm, I remembered the doctor's advice and purchased another brace for that arm.
I wore these braces for hours at a time, most days of the week.
After about a year I noticed that my tennis elbow problem was much subdued but that I was starting to feel pain on the inner (medial) side of the elbow joint in both arms. (This is the side of the elbow opposite the side where tennis elbow occurs.) Also, both arms, especially the right arm, were starting to hurt when bearing a load, and seemed to be weakening.
I did some research and concluded that I now had golf elbow (medial epicondylitis).
I kept wearing the braces and made a mental note to see the doctor again.
In early January 2006 (a few days after I had retired from my job, and relinquished my health insurance), we had our floors refinished and I spent about four days cleaning up all the dust. I wrung out a wet rag into a bucket surely 1000 times.
About a week after this big effort, I started getting sharp pains in both forearms in response to simple movements like reaching for things. Finally I started feeling pain when I wasn't doing anything.
The pain got worse. And worse. And worse.
By February I was in such monstrous distress I could not tolerate the slightest contact against my forearms or elbows. I could not rest my arms on a chair. The friction from a long-sleeved shirt was intolerable. Under the pain was an even deeper aching that never, ever went away. I spent a lot of time lying on my stomach in bed, my elbows facing the ceiling. Moaning.
By March the only way I could type was with a pencil held between my teeth. I could just barely hold a fork and just barely transfer food to my mouth. I could not tie my shoelaces. This list was bottomless and growing.
I read deeply, darkly, and voraciously, turning the pages with my mouth and holding the pages open with a network of rubber bands.
About this time my hands swelled enormously, turned red, and felt hot. They looked like baseball mitts. Whenever I walked and swung my arms, the swelling worsened.
I moaned, I screamed, I wailed, I stared out the window at a farm from which the farmer was effectively banished. I made impossible promises to God.
I lay in bed, roaring, my family arranged impotently around me, with faces that looked puzzled and far away. There is no greater loneliness than the loneliness of illness. People from your former life may surround you, but you are a stranger to them and they to you.
I started to realize that the braces had probably damaged the nerves in my arms, and I angrily threw them away.
March became April became May became June became July. My gardens filled with weeds (and that was just the beginning of the neglect). I went to the emergency room at UVA twice (a total of about $1600) and told my sad story a hundred times to a hundred faces. I was convinced that wearing those braces had damaged the nerves in my arms, but I seemed unable to convince anyone else of this. At the same time, few had any other diagnosis to offer, and no treatment to suggest but NSAIDs, which were completely worthless against the pain.
A few docs thought I might have MS. A CAT scan was performed to rule it out.
The only way I could sleep was in a La-Z-Boy with my elbows suspended in space, through a clever positioning involving pillows, and my brain pickled in booze.
Although my hands swelled, my once-mighty arms shrank from severe "disuse atrophy." (Ultimately, my upper-arm circumference shrank from 17 inches to 13.)
I was referred to an orthopedic surgeon, who said I might have a condition called ulnar neuropathy, probably unrelated to the braces but caused, rather, by bone pressing against ("entrapping") the ulnar nerve. He wanted to operate but said I first needed an electromyogram to confirm that there was actual nerve damage.
To my huge surprise, this expensive test ($800 or so) showed that the nerve function in my arms was completely normal. On a follow-up, the orthopedic surgeon then said there was nothing he could do for me, and suggested no alternatives for me to pursue. He was one particularly cold-blooded sucker, and I wasted $400 on him.
By late summer I had decided either to sue the original doctor who had prescribed the arm braces, or to see him again (I had actually liked the guy and thought he was pretty good, one of those rare doctors who really listen to the patient). I was so desperate I chose to see him again. He listened to my story and examined me. I told him I considered him partly responsible for my condition, since he had prescribed the arm braces but not told me how to wear them or warned me about the potential risks. He apologized profusely, and I forgave him with tears in my eyes.
Well, I chose wisely, if perversely, when I chose to see him again. He put me on oxycodone, which was a godsend. He quickly diagnosed the problem as reflex sympathetic dystrophy (RSD). The diagnosis was later confirmed by the head of UVA's Hand Clinic. This condition is also known as complex regional pain syndrome (with an emphasis on "pain," believe me). It's a poorly understood condition; suffice it to say it was indeed the result of a serious insult to the nerves in my arms.
The mainstay of treatment of RSD, I learned, is physical therapy. You have to start to do the things that hurt, or you are finished. The affliction can actually spread to the rest of the body! I went to a physical therapist, who told me that the condition is "often incurable." That was very encouraging. I never went back to her.
However, she had given me a list of stretching exercises to do, which I then clumsily and painfully attempted to do, every day, four times a day, starting in September. To these exercises I gradually added yoga, push-offs against a wall, and about 10 exercises designed for rehabilitation from and prevention of tennis and golf elbow.
I could proceed only in baby steps, and everything hurt, hurt, hurt. But I found I that could work through the pain and that, on subsequent attempts of the same exercise, the pain was less. I became not only hopeful, but excited.
I worked harder and more obsessively on this new project of recovery than I'd ever worked on anything. It was my everything.
By November I was actually doing a few real pushups. Progress was relentless, the pain was subsiding, I quit my beloved oxycodone cold-turkey. After eight months of being swollen, my hands started looking more like my hands. Life was resuming.
Today I can do 50 pushups and 13 pullups and all the other stuff I used to do. My forearms bulge with muscle, and my elbows are normal.
Every now and then, I get a little tingle in my arms to remind me of where I've come from.