My shoulder, the left one, the one that I did not abuse by hanging 25 pounds of textbooks off of all the way through high school and college, appears to be falling apart. It hurts when I sleep on it. It hurts to wrap a towel around me. It hurts when I swim. It hurts when I gesture.
I have an appointment with my GP on Thursday for a checkup. Partially to beg for drug renewals – Imitrex, Serevent and whatever prescription allergy medication my insurance will allow me to purchase which will not make me sleepy. Partially to have my skin checked, as I am a fair creature who burns easily and sport one scar from the removal of a melanoma on my arm. And partially to receive confirmation that my left shoulder will have to submit to the rigors of an x-ray, an MRI and a surgeon's knife in the near future.
I know I should have seen someone when it started acting up over a year ago. Over a year ago being the the fall of 2006. But I put it off. Because I knew that there would be x-rays and MRI's and a surgeon. And surgeons mean needles, needles to draw blood, needles to inject medication, needles placed temporarily under my skin into a vein to pump drugs and saline through my body.
I hate needles. Really hate needles. Hate enough that I refuse to give blood. Enough that, at the age of 16, I threw a tantrum when I was forced to return to the hospital so the tech could draw more blood to test for what turned out to be strep pneumonia. Enough that I waited a year longer than any sane person to see a doctor about my aching shoulder.
It does not help that I have come close to passing out multiple times. Or that the last time I had blood drawn my arm turned black and blue from my wrist to my elbow. Or that J has the same phobia but has managed to conquer it enough to give blood. I take comfort in the fact that he is a universal donor, so if I'm desperate he will provide.
You might think it was because I spent a fair amount of time in hospitals when I was a child. I had typical childhood ailments – removal of my tonsils, polyps removed from my adenoids (twice), tubes placed in my ears (three times). Except that I remember each of those trips and as far back as my memory can recall, I was all ready asleep when they inserted the I.V.
This time I will be awake and not sedated. Not a good combination.
I'm not afraid of needles nor do I have a problem with blood, yet I pass out when I give blood. In fact, I passed out BEFORE I gave blood back in high school. My doctor told me I have vasovagal syncope, which means I pass out when I give blood. The last time, I passed out twice. The doctor told me to lie down the next time I'm going to give blood.
ReplyDeleteJenn, sorry to hear about your shoulder. I faint when I see blood, so I have adapted--I close my eyes rather than watching them draw it. Just a suggestion!
ReplyDeleteMaybe they can fix your shoulder with arthroscopic surgery, which I think is much less invasive. Good luck!