My right hip has been hurting me since the 10k. I was able to run and work out, so I just figured (hoped) it would go away. Yesterday I begged my neighbor to watch the kids so I could squeeze in a three mile run. Approximately .25 miles into it, I had to stop and walk. My hip felt like it was going to come flying off my leg and explode into a bunch of tiny bony bits.
I’ll admit it: my frustration level bubbled up and over. I sat in my neighbor’s kitchen and said, “Please, what next? Not the running! PLEASE NOT THE RUNNING!” It’s not just the exercise factor; it’s a mental thing, and having goals to work toward make life easier. If I can pick off this target, I can pick off the next. It mirrors my life: if I can get to the next hurdle, and through it, the next one won’t be so bad. Or painful.
A friend recommended a local sports medicine doc. I called and begged for an appointment today. They squeezed me in at 1. I was initially turned off by the plethora of sales stuff out there - shoes that firm your butt by walking? Yep, and I’ve got a diet pill that will allow you to eat cake and donuts and hot dogs and still lose 10 pounds a week. The doc also conveniently gives Botox injections and prescriptions for Latisse - the eyelash lengthening drug. I was confused - was I in a plastic surgeon’s office, or a sports medicine office? Wait, it’s sports medicine because there on the wall are the PT beds and balls and some weird looking treadmill thing.
I was taken aback by the odd reptilian color of my doctor’s eyes. They were a blazing green. I found I couldn’t look straight at them. I’m hoping they were colored contacts. The exam was quick. Not sure if the hip is bursitis or a stress fracture. Ankle is missing a ligament; nothing can be done about that other than to strengthen the muscles around the bone by standing on one foot as much as possible and balancing. A cortisone shot was quickly ordered up and I was told to stock up on Naproxen and take 2 twice a day for inflammation
Never having had a cortisone shot before, I was a little nervous. First she tried injecting it into my hip while I stood up. When I nearly passed out and started to sway, she decided to remove the needle and put me on the table. The needle went back in; so did the cortisone. During the shot experience, I asked the question, “If I have bursitis, why now?” The answer?
“Our creator meant for your body to be 120, 125 pounds max.”
Blink blink.
I looked up at her. “Did I tell you I’ve lost 35 pounds in the last year?”
“No,” she said. “But that will make the next 25 even easier to lose.”
Blink, blink.
“I’ve been stuck at this weight for a while. I was thinking I’d like to lose another 10-15. I’m never going to look like I did in college or before kids, and I’m completely OK with that.”
“I need to set you up with my nutritionist.”
Blink, blink.
“I do Weight Watchers. Works great for me, when I work it.”
“We have a great nutritionist here.”
“Like I said, no thanks. I have a therapist, a psychiatrist, and a general practitioner.” Unsaid: and even if I DID want a nutritionist, I’d go to someone who specializes in my particular needs, not some random Sports Medicine person.
I was sent out with a script for PT and some massage therapy and told to follow up in two weeks.
The elevators had glass doors. 30 minutes before, I was feeling pretty good about my accomplishments. At the present moment, all I could see were the problem areas of my body. I could still see her collarbones jutting out as she stabbed the needle into my hip and probably stared disgustedly at my love handles. Perhaps in her world, everyone should look like a starving triathlete. Maybe it’s just the nature of the job.
Either way, hearing what basically amounted to “Fat Girls Don’t Run” was not particularly inspirational.
I’m going to get my PT and massage Thursday, and then I’m finding a new doc for the follow up.
