Save the Shoulder!

In my last post about The Shoulder, I said I had a plan of attack for potentially seeing the specialist earlier for a cortisone injection if I didn’t see improvement. I haven’t seen the specialist.

Don’t get too excited. The reason I haven’t booked to see him earlier is  because I reassessed my reasoning. The point of the medication being 6 weeks is because it’s supposed to take 6 weeks. Obviously you should notice small changes because bodies don’t just magically wake up on the 6 week mark fully recovered.

So, overall, there’s been small improvements. I started isometrics which were fun. They felt completely useless, standing next to my pole and pushing/pulling/levering against it from 0°, but somewhere around the 2 week mark I realised that my shoulder wasn’t aching. Just sitting and watching TV wasn’t causing it to flare up anymore.

Also taken into account, was the sudden flashes of pain. Again, thinking back, I couldn’t remember the last time my shoulder just decided to scream and scream at me. And then the isometrics themselves stopped hurting.

Excited with my physio, we ramped it up. Now, lying face-down on the ground, I was to lift my arms up and down while engaging my scapula. Physio isn’t happy with my wings, and we really need to get them tucked back under again to support the joint for its future endeavours.

I go away to Wellington the day after the new assignment. I do my isometrics while in Wellington against a door frame instead of with my pole, rather than starting the new routine away from home. Monday night rolls around and I try some out.

Can I just give up? Halfway through and my eyes are filled with tears. I do 2×10 of one, and only make it through 1×10 of another before I’m a complete mess. I do that gross thing where you don’t move and cry lots and your boyfriend comes and sits next to you, tapping your back to the tune of whatever song is playing in his head, in support. 

It’s not JUST the pain, but the sheer uselessness I feel when I really think about the road in front of me. Baby steps are required, one goal at a time, which didn’t really occur to me before this point. Even after I’m back on the pole, this road will continue as well. I never was so naive thinking I’d be able to pick up where I left off, but seeing it all laid out, all the milestones I’d have to re-accomplish, and the mere fact that I couldn’t even keep my shoulders down and back while doing this one little exercise. Yeah. There were tears.

I completed the routine the next night, breaking down to tears. I quit the routine on Wednesday night a lot earlier than I had on Monday, instead choosing to move to my bed and feel sorry for myself. Thursday night came and went, and physio again this morning resulted in a relieving conversation.

Mike stops the exercises immediately. Crying is way too intense and recovery is hard but shouldn’t be THAT painful. It’s something I always knew, but was never really too sure where me being weak vs. the actual line started to blurr. Mike went over alternatives instead, had me test them out to make sure they’d do the trick, and sent me on my way after some good work went into loosening my upper trap.

We’re just over halfway until I see the specialist again, and I’m hoping we will have done enough to not need the injection.




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