I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV. And by TV, I mean the imaginary life I lead in my head, which in my defense, is based on both my extensive field experience while raising four children and my amazing internet-search skills. Usually, this confidence serves me well. I’ve avoided pointless trips to the pediatrician, where they’ll just tell me it’s an untreatable virus, and at the other extreme, I know an emergency when I see one.
But for some reason, I completely missed the medical boat when self-diagnosing my injured right arm. You may recall I was 95 percent positive I had broken it, even though I hadn’t fallen or been in an accident. The orthopedic gently proved me wrong with an X-ray, and I begrudgingly accepted a diagnosis of over-use and old age. I could not, however, get on board with what the physical therapist told me, as it made no common sense that a rotary cuff issue would manifest as intense deltoid pain. And she refused to even examine me since I was only two weeks post-COVID-19. How could she possibly know what was going on with me? So, I didn’t do the prescribed exercises and allowed life to get in the way of follow-up visits. Take that!
Unfortunately, she was right about everything, and because I foolishly ignored sound, professional advice, I’m now facing something called a frozen shoulder, with an eight- to 10-month recovery period. Ugh. Talk about a ginormous slice of humble pie!
Bottom line, playing a doctor in my TV head is not the same as being an actual M.D. Lesson learned. Probably.
Peace out.
