Me and my wrist

A little over a year ago I tripped over an empty shoe box. Boxes, really. Two of them stacked on top of each other. Doc Martens, to be exact. I fell backwards, hard. I landed on my hip, my knee and then twisted my ankle. I landed so hard I was fairly sure that was the end of my fucked up left knee. But it was fine. I made sure my ankle was okay. Fine, bleeding a little, but fine. Later that day I'd notice a really gnarly bruise. But fine.

Then I noticed my fingers hurt. And the base of my index and middle fingers began to swell and bruise. Fuck, I thought. I just broke my damn hand. I had some meeting I couldn't miss and I began to wonder if I'd have to cancel it so I could get my hand checked out. But I could make a fist and wiggle my fingers. I was fine.

A week or two later I had a doctor's appointment for something else. I was telling her about my fall and how surprised I was that I didn't break anything. I figured part of was because I'm pretty strong and lift weights, so the muscle helped; she agreed.

Fast forward another week or so.... I'm typing away for a couple of hours in my office, something I hadn't done for a long time. And my left wrist began to throb and burn. It hurt so damn bad. I called my doctor to make an appointment. She was pretty sure it was tendonitis, which can be caused by a trauma. The plan: Wear a brace for a few weeks. If it doesn't help, she'd refer me to a hand therapist.

It didn't help. I went to a hand therapist. She made me a new splint. This was December 2018. Some things got better, other things didn't. Then other stuff began to hurt: my shoulder (although my massage therapist gave me a stretch that helped), my elbow, my fingers. By April she said discharged me back to my doctor. I was initially on a six week plan with five goals, after four months, I'd achieved one of those goals. Time for an image.

I got an MRI. It looked like a torn ligament and possible cartilage damage. I was referred to a hand surgeon. Unfortunately, the hand surgeon was retiring and not taking new patients. It was still April and the new guy wasn't starting until July. I opted to see a non-hand doctor orthopedic. He was nice. Really great. He agreed, the symptoms looked like a torn ligament, but he said I really needed to see the hand doctor. Could I wait six week?

Fine.

When I saw him, I had a new Xray. Diagnosis? Ulnocarpel Impingement Syndrome, sometimes called ulnar impaction syndrome. The ulnar bone was a couple millimeters longer than the other bone. This can create pressure and inflammation between the ulna bone and the hand bones and put pressure on the TFCC ligament and cause degradation of the soft tissue. Well, shit.

Conservative treatment: cortisone shots to treat the inflammation. When all else fails: surgery. We did a shot. It hurt. I swore (one "fuck" and one "Jesus christ that hurt!") I could do shots ever four months. Give him a call if I needed another one.

Did it help? No. I waited four months and made an appointment. I was still wearing the brace I'd gotten in December. By this time, I had been wearing some sort of brace for a year. I felt like I had two options: Wear a splint for the rest of my life or have surgery. Based on my previous experience at the same office with a different doctor, I was really worried. I was terrified I'd get there and the hand doctor would tell me to suck it up (buttercup).

When I told him the shot didn't really help, he said, "I'm not surprised given the issue." So we talked next steps, namely surgery (ulnar shortening osteotomy, also: video with blood, without blood). He approached it with a If-you-decide-to-do-this tone. I stopped him, told him I was already in the surgery mindset. I didn't want to wear a splint for the rest of my life. So, we talked specifics. I have a date, I have a recovery calendar. I've done a deep dive into literature about the surgery (success rates, outcomes, etc.). I'm ready. Oh, and to add to this, I've begun to develop tendonitis on the other side of the same hand. Awesome.

And I am. But last night, for the first time in a year, I cried. I did something, like reach for something, and I got a sharp pain in my wrist. It was like a final straw. I teared up and cried. And got angry. Because I am sick and fucking tired of this. I am tired of being in pain. I am tired of feeling broken. I am tired of this splint. I am just pissed off. I'm still pissed off. Its like now that I have a plan and a solution (hopefully), I have reached my fucking limit.

My surgery is scheduled for the beginning of December, and it can't get here fast enough.