SHOULDER WORK AHEAD

CAUTION: SHOULDER WORK AHEAD

From the beginning, it has to be clearly said, "...It was inevitable". Yes, it was entirely predictable that with my history of life-long reckless behavior... it was only a matter of time before this shoulder of mine would need to be medically addressed with a surgeons knife.

After dealing with ever-increasing pain in my shoulder for several months, a decision was eventually made to seek medical attention. Although my internist had his own well-founded suspicion what my problem was, he quickly referred me to one of the best orthopedic surgeons in town. It seemed like sheer torture that there was to be more pain-filled delays for me while time-consuming tests were being performed. Nothing seems to move quick enough when one is in pain and when a competent physician wants to be certain of their ultimate diagnosis. Finally, the day arrives when the surgeon was able to confirm his original suspicions and relay the dreaded diagnosis of torn rotator cuff to me.

Repeatedly, the surgeon questioned me as to which event, which injury, caused this particular problem which was now going to require surgical intervention. At first, my mind drew a blank ...but then given a little time, my mind starting reeling as to the possibilities. Instinctively, my then-functioning left hand started scratching my head, trying to activate the memory chips implanted in the ole databanks for the one, singular event which could have possibly been the cause of this affliction. In the final analysis, one was left to conclude that my ending up in this medical predicament was just plain inevitable. The cause just might not be limited to one, single, injurious incident ...but, more than likely, the result of a life filled with careless behavior and lived with reckless abandon.

Imagine this... being able to avoid breaking any bones in my body for six (6) decades! All things considered ...it sounds like somebody had an overworked guardian angel for sixty years. Even though a torn rotator cuff did not technically constitute breaking one of my bones... fixing it was going to require surgery and some substantial (...highly unusual) “down time” for me. Incidentally, this particular assault to my body is not to be confused with another incident which occurred last month as a result of tripping while walking backward ...ending up breaking bones in my (then good) left arm. That painful experience happened *after* this dreaded diagnosis was delivered but *before* the actual promised surgical repair. One could be led to believe that the ole guardian angel must have thrown up his hands in the air several months ago and finally declared, "You're on your own now... buddy". So, as stated earlier... both of these recent incidents seemed to be pretty predictable, based on my reckless lifestyle over the past sixty years. It was all inevitable ...just a matter of time.

In my preteen years, there were many acts of sheer recklessness whenever my bicycle was mounted without first donning a helmet. In my defense, not too many bicycle helmets were even manufactured during the 1950's. Nevertheless, there were too many incidents where caution was thrown to the wind and (consequentially) my body ending up being catapulted over the handlebars. Though my skull could have easily been split in half... as long as there was no blood evident at the scene, there were always assurances that, “No blood ...you're okay!”. Miraculously, not a broken bone was recorded during those careless years. "Look Ma, No Hands... Look Ma, No Bike!"

Then, in my teen years, fate seemed to be challenged on the football field, on the wrestling mat and in the school yard. Through all of this, my body suffered numerous black-eyes, bloody noses, torn tendons, sprained ankles and wrenched knees, yet somehow... in spite of all of these assaults to the body ...trips to the hospital for broken bones were somehow miraculously averted.

As a parent and a pet owner there were several painful tumbles down flights of stairs, stumbling over the toys of children or of pets, usually resulting in bruises, bleeding and spraining (and... of course ...untold number of splitting headaches) ...but Mister Ripley... believe it or not... never resulting in a recorded broken bone. 

By now, you may be sensing a pattern here that it was only going to be a matter of time before some event would become dramatic enough to require stitches, or a cast ... or maybe even surgical intervention. If nothing else, the constant wear and tear on the body was leading up to an eventual breaking point. The odds were against me. It was a only a matter of time ...unless my lifestyle changed drastically.

As an adult, there were a myriad of other occasions when my careless, reckless spirit could have easily resulted in broken bones or at least required surgical repair. Some of these injurious incidents are too still too painful (and embarrassing) to recount in words (verbal or written)... but none of the outcomes ever ended with a broken bone during this time.

There is another incident that can be shared... that had to do with a ladder slipping out from underneath me and landing on my head. Due to the intensity of the subsequent headache... (this fall was obviously "broken" by my thankfully-thick skull) ...for the record ...no bones could be noted as being broken ...but that just might be because there was no follow-up trip to the hospital. Since it is highly unlikely that the hospital staff would have put my whole head in a cast ...it seemed pointless of going to the E.R..  Nothing else in my body hurt quite like my head.  With my luck, someone at the E.R. probably would have just said, "No blood, you're okay!" Since the pain in my head was so overwhelming, it is doubtful that this shoulder of mine was critically assaulted that day. Every other bone in my body could have been shattered that day ...but NOTHING was going to equal the pain in my head. Alas, this is just another confession of my continued reckless behavior.

It should be said that we are grateful for this genetically-perfected Carver-Jones skull which has served me well so far. Though some might equate the thickness of my hard head with being stubborn, suffice it to say that this attribute has served me well thus far in several respects. Obviously, the day is coming when x-rays series will need to be taken of this cranium and then scientists around the globe will be amazed how this unique, highly-developed feature of mine has miraculously managed to hold all of my brain matter together for this length of time.

If truth be known, most of my most memorable injuries have involved trauma to the head. With each of these head injuries, it seems that a new levels of pain were defined for me ...but none of these were comparable to the pain encountered with the torn rotator cuff. (It should be noted though that the subsequent fall on my left elbow last month redefined what a "pain level of 10" would mean for me). So, maybe all of the previous exposures to various pain events and ever-increasing pain levels was simply some sort of grand plan to build up my tolerance for these most recent injurious events.

Though the worst of the previously-recalled injuries seemed to involve assaults principally to my head, only one injury could be remembered which actually involved my right shoulder ...though it took place several years ago. That particular incident occurred in the hills of Tennessee. We had already been camping with our travel trailer for a week in the Great Smoky Mountains when it came time for me to break camp and head home to Ohio.

One of the last tasks in preparing the camping trailer for travel is the stowing of the retractable awning which extends the length of our long trailer. Up until this day, this has always been a fairly simple process. On this occasion, for some unknown reason, the tension bar was not operating properly and was not retracting. Maybe it was my haste to get on the road that caused me to lose my patience and lose my focus meaning that a struggle ensued with the mechanism of the awning.

Even to this day, it still baffles me to understand how it all happened. It comes down to this... carelessness ... recklessness. In an instant, the previously-stuck awning suddenly became "unstuck"... and in a flash, "BAMMMMM" the whole awning retracted like a hastily released window shade. As a result, my upper right arm was suddenly and violently smashed against the side of the trailer ...trapped there between the siding and the heavy metal spring arm of the awning now in a locked position.

Instantaneously, the blood supply to the lower two-thirds of my arm was cut off as if some huge tortuous tourniquet had been rapidly applied. There is no shame for me to say that ...from the split second of that painfully loud "snap", there came from my innermost being... the loudest, most soulful, primal scream ever heard in those Tennessee hills.

Reason would usually advise against panicking in situations such as this ...but with no one seemingly answering my calls for help and my wife unable to assist me with this predicament, panic quickly started to overtake my better judgment. The vision of trapped animals gnawing off their limbs to escape the jaws of the fur hunter's trap became my focus for the longest time. My free left arm could not move the metal bar even a fraction of an inch ...so the possibility of extracting my right arm seemed highly unlikely. All seemed completely hopeless. It was probably only moments away from me losing consciousness when a prayer escaped my lips. In answer to that plea, our good God sent ...not one... but two ...earthbound angels to my aid.

My tear-filled eyes began to focus on the outlines of two large figures quickly approaching from a long distance. These two runners were huge mountain men, the size of the best-fed lumberjacks ...yet they seemed to literally float through the air like a couple of ballerinas as they leaped across a fairly wide stream to come to my assistance.

Though each one of these rescuers could have been twice my amble size, right then and there... these two giants became the most beautiful creatures on earth ...to me. Whether it was their sheer mountain men strength ...or some sort of adrenaline-induced power... (encouraged by my bleating like a sheep stuck in some sort of bear trap), these men were miraculously able to bend that thick spring-loaded metal arm from its locked position against the camping trailer wall and then somehow manage to extricate my right arm. Though the metal awning arm was now permanently bent beyond repair, it was truly a beautiful sight... especially when now viewed from a distance.

Every ounce of my being wanted to hug these giant rescuers at that moment but my already bruising, throbbing right arm could only hang limply to my side. Hugging with two arms was out of the question but sincere profound thanks to these men and God were repeatedly expressed.

Now, a smarter man would have immediately had himself transported to the nearest medical facility for evaluation ...but instead... this reckless camper decided to drive several hundred miles to his home using mostly his left arm ...trying to quickly put considerable distance between him and the site of this regrettable incident. (This lack of clear judgment probably had something to do with the aforementioned head injuries).

So, whether it was this particular incident ...or some other injurious event that caused the condition which was going to require surgical intervention for a torn rotator cuff, it can only be said (once again) that all of this was predictable... it was clearly inevitable, ...it was only a matter of time.

In my quiet reflections during these post-surgical days, these reckless behaviors of my past are now being continually reviewed and a conscious resolution is being made to begin acting with considerable more care. Consideration is also being given to try to do a better job of protecting this precious head of mine before the inevitable follows suit with it too.