I apologize for the dormant state of my blog. Please read on for an explanation.This summer, much like last summer... was not exactly what I had in mind.
It was supposed to be my 'final summer,' the one to rule them all before I completely sell my soul and sign my life away to a medical education. Unfortunately a case of carpal tunnel/tenosynovitis/no doctor knows exactly what to call it had other things in mind.
If you recall I took on a project funded by the National Institutes of Health. It was a pretty great project working on something I was genuinely interested in. It also had some fringe benefits, i.e. a stipend, the opportunity to be published and to make connections with a University associated physician. Basically, I was excited.
The majority of work in my lab consisted of small articulate traces of MRI scans that I did using the computer mouse and arrow keys. By the end of the first week these small repetitive motions were taking a toll. Initially it felt like muscle pain and I joked that my forearms needed a work-out, but by the end of the second week it was really hurting. I wasn't sure what was going on and I wanted to be taken seriously, so I didn't say anything. Furthermore, this project was a really great opportunity and I didn't want to compromise it by complaining or bowing down to what I considered 'wimpy wrists.' I switched to using my left hand as much as possible in an effort to keep working, but by the end of my 3rd week both my wrists were shot.
The purchase of wrist braces got me through week 4. I showed up to lab on Monday of week 5 hands aching. I started in on my work and the pain was unbearable. Any click of the mouse sent throbbing pains up my arms and a burning/arthritic sensation throughout my wrist. Over the weekend I'd been experiencing weakness throughout my arms leading me to drop things and requiring me to use both hands to lift things like a glass of water, but I'd been telling myself it wasn't a big deal.
When I went to call my Laura/surrogate mama/physician assistant that morning to get some medical advice and dropped my phone because my arms had become too weak to support a cell, I more or less had a mini breakdown... Fast forward through an uncomfortable and emotional meeting with my lab director (not one of my prouder moments), a slurry of doctor appointments, worker's comp paperwork, and medications -ibuprofen to naproxin to nabumatone to a medrol steroid pack with no real results- and I'm finally on the road to recovery.
More or less, this summer was not as pleasant as I'd hoped. In the end after 10 grueling weeks of self-inflicted pain I was able to finish my project. I will in fact be published in a couple of papers and I have the satisfaction of knowing I stuck it out, but it was not without a lot of suffering and even more stress.
If you recall I took on a project funded by the National Institutes of Health. It was a pretty great project working on something I was genuinely interested in. It also had some fringe benefits, i.e. a stipend, the opportunity to be published and to make connections with a University associated physician. Basically, I was excited.
The only problem? My wrists were not.
The majority of work in my lab consisted of small articulate traces of MRI scans that I did using the computer mouse and arrow keys. By the end of the first week these small repetitive motions were taking a toll. Initially it felt like muscle pain and I joked that my forearms needed a work-out, but by the end of the second week it was really hurting. I wasn't sure what was going on and I wanted to be taken seriously, so I didn't say anything. Furthermore, this project was a really great opportunity and I didn't want to compromise it by complaining or bowing down to what I considered 'wimpy wrists.' I switched to using my left hand as much as possible in an effort to keep working, but by the end of my 3rd week both my wrists were shot.
The purchase of wrist braces got me through week 4. I showed up to lab on Monday of week 5 hands aching. I started in on my work and the pain was unbearable. Any click of the mouse sent throbbing pains up my arms and a burning/arthritic sensation throughout my wrist. Over the weekend I'd been experiencing weakness throughout my arms leading me to drop things and requiring me to use both hands to lift things like a glass of water, but I'd been telling myself it wasn't a big deal.
When I went to call my Laura/surrogate mama/physician assistant that morning to get some medical advice and dropped my phone because my arms had become too weak to support a cell, I more or less had a mini breakdown... Fast forward through an uncomfortable and emotional meeting with my lab director (not one of my prouder moments), a slurry of doctor appointments, worker's comp paperwork, and medications -ibuprofen to naproxin to nabumatone to a medrol steroid pack with no real results- and I'm finally on the road to recovery.
More or less, this summer was not as pleasant as I'd hoped. In the end after 10 grueling weeks of self-inflicted pain I was able to finish my project. I will in fact be published in a couple of papers and I have the satisfaction of knowing I stuck it out, but it was not without a lot of suffering and even more stress.
...And so, in an effort to make lemonade from these lemons, I wanted to reflect on my experience as the patient. Something that I don't think I fully understood till I was placed in those shoes...
Becoming the Patient:
**What it felt like to me**
How would I study? How on earth would I be able to perform dissections and handle neuroanatomy when I couldn't even lift a fork? Scarier was the fact that even with medication and rest, it wasn't getting better. I wasn't testing positive for any conditions and the doctors didn't have any answers for me. Had I caused permanent damage? Would I require surgery? How will this affect my potential for insurance? Would I always be dependent on other people? Am I now destined to be the girl that eats only through a straw, that forgoes clean hair and eye liner, that rules out cell phone use, and checks her email pen in mouth to type her password (another less than proud moment)? Not that I want to be a surgeon, but would the option now be off the table? Would I be able to be a physician... or anything really... if I didn't have the use of my hands?
10 weeks of stress, fear, pain and the unknown.
...Those were my lemons...
A summer that was a little more than I was counting on, but one that I will definitely remember.
I wish I could put my experience better into words and not feel like I'm coming off as a gigantic baby/melodramatic weirdo, but suffice it to say it was not pleasant and the memory of the stress and vulnerability I felt was enough to have made an impact on the way I see health care and the role of patient.
It is a scary place to be when you feel out of control of your own body, when activities you used to take for granted become impossible to perform. It is an incredibly frustrating and at times humiliating experience needing the assistance of those around you.
...And this is my lemonade...
These experiences, though brief and now improving, offered a window of insight. If I can remember this insight and the things I felt this summer, I really do believe it will help me to become a more compassionate health care provider in the future.
...And so...
Consider this not only my first step back into the blogosphere after a summer of computer avoidance, but my commitment to remember the things I felt this summer and to keep them in mind when a patient loses patience with me out of frustration and fear or when they need comforting for those same reasons.
No not the summer I had in mind, but a good one nonetheless.
Now just for giggles:
I know, none of those are that funny, but still... appropriate.
Becoming the Patient:
**What it felt like to me**
I had the tendency to downplay what was going on initially, because I didn't want to look weak or admit to myself that there was a problem but there were in fact portions of this summer where even the tasks of daily living were off the table either because my wrists were too weak or the pain was too great to merit the effort. I imagine that everyone is different, but not being able to wash my hair, brush my teeth, or lift a fork by myself had the effect of making me feel pretty pathetic. My friends and a guy I've been dating were more than willing to help, but I didn't want to be seen that way. I went through a couple of days with unwashed hair not eating much because I was too stubborn and embarrassed to ask for help or admit to myself that opening my own yogurt was too taxing. I stayed home and launched a movie marathon hoping that a few days of social isolation and icing my wrists would be enough, but it wasn't. They got worse.
In the end I had to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't ok, that I did in fact need the people around me. Admitting this to myself was bar none the most humbling experience of my life. I am recording my thanks here to a few great people that drove me around when I couldn't do it myself, that brought me food, and that even cut my steak and put it on my fork when I was too weak to do so. Even greater thanks is extended to them for not laughing when I had to use both hands to awkwardly clamp said fork and try to eat the steak they placed on it for me and for not losing patience with me when I lost patience with myself or acted short with them out of frustration and embarrassment.
This more than anything is what I want to document, the feeling of defenselessness, vulnerability, and fear. I didn't know what was happening to my body. I was embarrassed to admit to those around me that I couldn't perform simple tasks, to let someone unlock my door for me because I couldn't handle the keys, to load my fork, and sometimes help me dress. I was worried about losing my project and being taken seriously. When I was excused from work with compensation, I was worried that people thought I was faking or milking it, because pain is so subjective. More than anything I was worried what would happen in a few weeks when school started if I wasn't able to use my hands and a computer.
How would I study? How on earth would I be able to perform dissections and handle neuroanatomy when I couldn't even lift a fork? Scarier was the fact that even with medication and rest, it wasn't getting better. I wasn't testing positive for any conditions and the doctors didn't have any answers for me. Had I caused permanent damage? Would I require surgery? How will this affect my potential for insurance? Would I always be dependent on other people? Am I now destined to be the girl that eats only through a straw, that forgoes clean hair and eye liner, that rules out cell phone use, and checks her email pen in mouth to type her password (another less than proud moment)? Not that I want to be a surgeon, but would the option now be off the table? Would I be able to be a physician... or anything really... if I didn't have the use of my hands?
These are only a smidgen of the things that crossed my mind. Did I blow things out of proportion/am I mildly melodramatic? Potentially... but you try and keep your spirits up when nobody can tell you what is wrong, you can't perform activities of daily living, or even sleep because of the extremely uncomfortable braces you're required to wear.
Fortunately this tale has a happy ending. I'm not at 100%, but now that I'm done with my project and I'm not repeatedly aggravating my injury, I'm getting better. I finished my project, am back to frequent hair washes and handling various eating utensils with mild to no discomfort (nom nom).
10 weeks of stress, fear, pain and the unknown.
...Those were my lemons...
A summer that was a little more than I was counting on, but one that I will definitely remember.I wish I could put my experience better into words and not feel like I'm coming off as a gigantic baby/melodramatic weirdo, but suffice it to say it was not pleasant and the memory of the stress and vulnerability I felt was enough to have made an impact on the way I see health care and the role of patient.
It is a scary place to be when you feel out of control of your own body, when activities you used to take for granted become impossible to perform. It is an incredibly frustrating and at times humiliating experience needing the assistance of those around you.
...And this is my lemonade...
These experiences, though brief and now improving, offered a window of insight. If I can remember this insight and the things I felt this summer, I really do believe it will help me to become a more compassionate health care provider in the future....And so...
Consider this not only my first step back into the blogosphere after a summer of computer avoidance, but my commitment to remember the things I felt this summer and to keep them in mind when a patient loses patience with me out of frustration and fear or when they need comforting for those same reasons.
No not the summer I had in mind, but a good one nonetheless.
Now just for giggles:
I know, none of those are that funny, but still... appropriate.
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