Allow me to get you up to speed. Around the beginning of the year I had high hopes of having found a local doc who would treat Lyme Disease AND STILL TAKE INSURANCE. A rare combination. My hopes were dashed when I was told over the phone that he doesn’t take Lyme patients, but he agreed to look over my records. I had them faxed to his office, he looked them over, and stated unequivocally that he would not take my case.
Because I’ve been experiencing a good deal of hip, leg, and foot pain, I feared the Lyme was returning. And was angry. So I went back on the antibiotic protocol that my Orlando Lyme doctor tried to put me on last year. After a bad reaction, he took me off the meds, but told me to try again in 2 weeks. I waited 8 months. And this time the reaction was times 5. I lost 3 days of my life and revised my will at least a half a dozen times.
I threw those antibiotics in the street and ran them over with the van. Before setting them ablaze.
Plan C went into effect. We lost my favorite doctor in the area who was as close to a Naturopath and still took insurance as I’ll EVER find. LOVED him. But he sold his practice (thank you new health care law which shall go unnamed because I only discuss politics in person…over a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20). Fiddledaddy found a sports medicine doctor in the area who he had been seeing and he sang this doctor’s praises to the heavens. Fiddledaddy is not an easy sell when it comes to doctors so I thought I’d give it a go.
This doctor knew I had Lyme Disease, but I asked him to look at me with fresh eyes. Fiddledaddy wasn’t convinced that I am dealing with a resurgence of Lyme, because the symptoms seemed to be localized from my hips down. As opposed to EVERYWHERE with the additional bonus of not remembering my own phone number. GOOD TIMES.
This doctor poked and prodded, checking this and that. He told me that he really believed that my pain issues were all related to the fact that I was seriously OUT OF ALIGNMENT. So much so that one leg is now longer than the other. He talked about a whole bunch of 4-syllable medical terms that made my eyes roll to the back of my head. I paid very little attention in Health, Physics, and Biology. But I do know that the hip bone is connected to the thigh bone. And the thigh bone is connected to the knee bone. And you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself about….
In other words, everything from my lower back down is angry. Very angry. And at the end of the trail I have Plantar Fasciitis in both feet. (It was only one foot a while back. But share the wealth, and all that…)
The one thing that I did hear loud and clear and understood was that, “THIS IS TOTALLY FIXABLE.” He does have a working understanding of Lyme Disease, and he warned me that because of that, I may experience joint pain in addition to all of everything else. I would just have to keep an eye on it. His recommendation was 3 weeks of Physical Therapy. Which I started. Last week.
Let me tell you a little bit about Physical Therapy, as this is not my first rodeo. The first week? That’s the honeymoon phase wherein they lull you into a sense of false security with gentle massage, soft music, and scented candles. (Okay, I’m exaggerating about the scented candles.) Then the next week they CUT LOOSE WITH ALL THE MIND NUMBING PAINFUL STRETCHING TECHNIQUES. I AM CERTAIN THAT I WAS NOT MEANT TO BEND THAT WAY. GUMBY I am NOT.
This leads me to the assertion that P.T. actually stands for Physical Torture.
When I get home Fiddledaddy hands me the heating pad. But really, I think I need a full body heating pad. I don’t even know where to start.
I am really and truly optimistic. I do believe that I’m making strides. And by strides I mean that I’m no longer spitting on the ground when I think of my Physical Therapist.
They asked me what my goals were on the P.T. new patient form. I said, “a cartwheel.” But in reality it is closer to, “just to get from one end of the room to the other without feeling like I’m 90.”
But a cartwheel would be totally cool. Hope springs eternal.