Disability...

There is a new decoration on the rear-view mirror of our car.

Some people prefer the term "differently abled" to "disabled." I am not one of those people. There is no advantage to the fact that I lost the genetic lottery in terms of my musculoskeletal system. There is no longer any hiding the fact that I use a cane most days, and that I walk like someone twice my age, and that I depend on pain killers to function on any meaningful level. I am disabled. It's not a dirty word. It's just a fact of my life.

Tests on the nerves in my legs had shown that there was no nerve damage, and I decided to go the route of physical therapy for my lumbar spine rather than pursue surgery. Since that problem is getting better (slowly,) I asked if we could talk about my neck, shoulder and arm pain. (They only work on one level at a time.) I had breathed a sigh of relief, since I had been psyching myself up for possible lumbar spine surgery, and I was confident that physical therapy and losing some weight would help.

But today, my neurosurgeon told me that surgery on my neck is inevitable. Basic neurological tests showed that I have pathological reflexes in my hands. My MRI shows that I have a bi-lobar bulge in C5-C6, which basically means that the disk is squishing out of the space in two directions, probably impinging on the peripheral nerves.

I had thought that I might not need surgery on my spine, and now it looks as though it's something I need to prepare myself for in a serious fashion. Interestingly, the doctor told me that some of the pain in my back might actually be referred from the site in my neck. Luckily, this particular doctor is world-renowned in terms of cervical column surgery, and he pioneered the use of synthetic cervical disks in the US. In fact, the friend who told me about this doctor had the procedure done, and it vastly improved his life.

I'm now back into "psyching myself up for surgery" mode. Still afraid of going under. Still afraid something might go wrong. The surgery itself is kind of scary to think about. In order to remove the blown-out disk, they'll slice open my throat and go in through the front. Yeah, I know, I'm making it sound really gory, but maybe that's my way of desensitizing myself.

One thing I have to wonder is whether there is an underlying cause for the fact that at 35, almost every major joint in my body is diseased in some way. I was born with hip displaysia and a deformity of my sternum called pectis excavatum. These are both hallmarks of Marfan's Syndrome. Though I don't display any of the obvious physical characteristics of someone with this particular disease, I'm curious as to whether there might be some genetic reason why I'm all jacked up. I might see about genetic testing in the future. Now, though, I need to focus on moving forward.

I'll post more later. It's just about time for physical therapy, and then therapy-therapy.