by Pa Rock
Contrarian
I'm not a doctor, but if I wasn't older than Methuselah, had a haircut within the last five months, wasn't sporting a twenty-four day scraggly beard, and didn't have a Jackie Gleasonesque gut - I could probably play one on TV.
Today I had my first visit with my orthopedic specialist since June 1st, the day after I broke my "arm." I put the word "arm" in quotes because on that fateful afternoon when I tried to step backward out of the raised flower bed in which I had been working - and landed hard on the ground, on my back, with a loud thud and a crack - I knew - KNEW - while lying there on the ground with pain shooting all around my upper body, that I had broken my "shoulder."
After finally stabilizing enough to get up and make my way to the house, and being home alone, I phoned for an ambulance which took me to the local hospital's emergency room. There I was promptly x-rayed and a bone specialist who happened to be the ER attending physician that afternoon marched into the ward where I was at and announced that I had a broken arm.
"Are you sure it's not my shoulder?" I asked. He assured me that it was a straight fracture of the arm bone just below the shoulder. Then he fitted me with a sling and sent me to see the bookkeeper, and eventually I rode home in an Uber with an unmasked driver. (It was as though the Gods were determined to get me one way or another that fateful afternoon!)
The next day I got in to see an orthopedist at the local clinic. She read the x-ray, told me I had a broken arm, and gave me a thing that I call a "contraption" but she called a "girdle" to stabilize my arm and act as a sling. At no time did anyone offer to let me see the x-rays, and I was still in too much shock to demand my patient rights.
I left that first appointment feeling that I had been hustled in and out, and perhaps hustled while I was there as well. I was particularly put off by the fact that of all of the many staff members that I had seen while I was there, only two - the doctor and nurse who dealt with me - were wearing face masks. A few days later I mentioned to my personal physician that the local orthopedic clinic didn't seem to realize the importance of masking, and I could see that he was surprised and bothered by that fact.
(While I was at the clinic on that initial visit I overheard one other elderly masked patient ask a nurse why people weren't wearing masks, and she replied that they did not have to, but that they had been given permission to wear masks if they wanted to. Apparently only two wanted to wear the standard protective face masks on that afternoon.)
Yesterday afternoon I got the reminder call about my appointment for this morning - which would be only my second visit to the clinic. As part of my pre-visit instructions I was told to wear a mask to the appointment. At that point I asked the caller if she would also be wearing a mask. She replied that she would. "And how about the rest of the staff?" I queried further. "Sir," she assured me, "We will all be wearing masks."
And when I got there this morning all of the receptionists, doctors, nurses, and physical therapists that I saw - and there were several - were wearing face masks. Even the x-ray technician had her face mask on. It was like the clinic had suddenly turned away from Fox News for its medical management information. I felt much safer - and like I was in the midst of medical professionals!
When the doctor came in, she asked if I was improving and I told her that I was. She made one adjustment to the contraption and then said that she would like to see me again in three to four weeks - and turned to leave. But I was too quick for her, and I started letting the questions fly. How long would I be bound in the contraption? (Eight weeks.) From today or from the day I broke my "arm"? (Eight to twelve weeks.) Can I try sleeping on my side? (You won't like it.). Can I see the x-rays?
And she brought up the shots from both visits on her computer - pictures that clearly showed a vertical break through my shoulder - above the end of the big arm bone. I noted the discrepancy, and the doctor explained that "the shoulder is part of the arm." (And by that logic, I guess that if I fall down and bust my knee cap I have broken by leg - or a broken toe is the same thing as a broken foot?) But again, I don't even play a doctor on TV, much less have a medical license!
Later the physical therapist started talking about my broken "arm" and, after learning that he had not even seen the x-rays, we had our own discussion about shoulders and arms. He did provide some information on home exercises that I could be using - and he seemed to think that I might be able to shed the contraption by the time of my next visit in three to four weeks. Then, as he was nervously edging toward the door, I hit him with the big question. If I was unable to drive because of the broken "shoulder," why could I not be regarded as "homebound" and be eligible for some homebound medical assistance like physical therapy and help with hygienic chores? He muddled through a response that never answered the question - and fled.
So the long and the short of it is that I have now had a second visit to the orthopedic clinic, and while I didn't get everything that I wanted, I did do a much better job of advocating for myself this time than on my previous visit - and I also feel like our local orthopedic clinic is a safer environment than it was just a few weeks ago.
And whatever bone I broke is still broken, but - according to my self-diagnosis (which seems to be what the doctor used) - it is getting better.
Doc Rock is on the case!
Contrarian
I'm not a doctor, but if I wasn't older than Methuselah, had a haircut within the last five months, wasn't sporting a twenty-four day scraggly beard, and didn't have a Jackie Gleasonesque gut - I could probably play one on TV.
Today I had my first visit with my orthopedic specialist since June 1st, the day after I broke my "arm." I put the word "arm" in quotes because on that fateful afternoon when I tried to step backward out of the raised flower bed in which I had been working - and landed hard on the ground, on my back, with a loud thud and a crack - I knew - KNEW - while lying there on the ground with pain shooting all around my upper body, that I had broken my "shoulder."
After finally stabilizing enough to get up and make my way to the house, and being home alone, I phoned for an ambulance which took me to the local hospital's emergency room. There I was promptly x-rayed and a bone specialist who happened to be the ER attending physician that afternoon marched into the ward where I was at and announced that I had a broken arm.
"Are you sure it's not my shoulder?" I asked. He assured me that it was a straight fracture of the arm bone just below the shoulder. Then he fitted me with a sling and sent me to see the bookkeeper, and eventually I rode home in an Uber with an unmasked driver. (It was as though the Gods were determined to get me one way or another that fateful afternoon!)
The next day I got in to see an orthopedist at the local clinic. She read the x-ray, told me I had a broken arm, and gave me a thing that I call a "contraption" but she called a "girdle" to stabilize my arm and act as a sling. At no time did anyone offer to let me see the x-rays, and I was still in too much shock to demand my patient rights.
I left that first appointment feeling that I had been hustled in and out, and perhaps hustled while I was there as well. I was particularly put off by the fact that of all of the many staff members that I had seen while I was there, only two - the doctor and nurse who dealt with me - were wearing face masks. A few days later I mentioned to my personal physician that the local orthopedic clinic didn't seem to realize the importance of masking, and I could see that he was surprised and bothered by that fact.
(While I was at the clinic on that initial visit I overheard one other elderly masked patient ask a nurse why people weren't wearing masks, and she replied that they did not have to, but that they had been given permission to wear masks if they wanted to. Apparently only two wanted to wear the standard protective face masks on that afternoon.)
Yesterday afternoon I got the reminder call about my appointment for this morning - which would be only my second visit to the clinic. As part of my pre-visit instructions I was told to wear a mask to the appointment. At that point I asked the caller if she would also be wearing a mask. She replied that she would. "And how about the rest of the staff?" I queried further. "Sir," she assured me, "We will all be wearing masks."
And when I got there this morning all of the receptionists, doctors, nurses, and physical therapists that I saw - and there were several - were wearing face masks. Even the x-ray technician had her face mask on. It was like the clinic had suddenly turned away from Fox News for its medical management information. I felt much safer - and like I was in the midst of medical professionals!
When the doctor came in, she asked if I was improving and I told her that I was. She made one adjustment to the contraption and then said that she would like to see me again in three to four weeks - and turned to leave. But I was too quick for her, and I started letting the questions fly. How long would I be bound in the contraption? (Eight weeks.) From today or from the day I broke my "arm"? (Eight to twelve weeks.) Can I try sleeping on my side? (You won't like it.). Can I see the x-rays?
And she brought up the shots from both visits on her computer - pictures that clearly showed a vertical break through my shoulder - above the end of the big arm bone. I noted the discrepancy, and the doctor explained that "the shoulder is part of the arm." (And by that logic, I guess that if I fall down and bust my knee cap I have broken by leg - or a broken toe is the same thing as a broken foot?) But again, I don't even play a doctor on TV, much less have a medical license!
Later the physical therapist started talking about my broken "arm" and, after learning that he had not even seen the x-rays, we had our own discussion about shoulders and arms. He did provide some information on home exercises that I could be using - and he seemed to think that I might be able to shed the contraption by the time of my next visit in three to four weeks. Then, as he was nervously edging toward the door, I hit him with the big question. If I was unable to drive because of the broken "shoulder," why could I not be regarded as "homebound" and be eligible for some homebound medical assistance like physical therapy and help with hygienic chores? He muddled through a response that never answered the question - and fled.
So the long and the short of it is that I have now had a second visit to the orthopedic clinic, and while I didn't get everything that I wanted, I did do a much better job of advocating for myself this time than on my previous visit - and I also feel like our local orthopedic clinic is a safer environment than it was just a few weeks ago.
And whatever bone I broke is still broken, but - according to my self-diagnosis (which seems to be what the doctor used) - it is getting better.
Doc Rock is on the case!
1 comment:
The shoulder is a ball and socket joint. The ball is the humeral head. The socket is the Glenoid socket and is part of the scapula. The arm bone in question, the humerus, is, from your description, a proximal (closer to the head) and not a distal (closer to the hand) fracture. The humeral head is the end of the big arm bone. From your description your fracture is just below the humeral head.
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