The best of the best

During swim season this fall, my youngest complained of her shoulder hurting. She said it kept popping out of place and she made us feel her shoulder at least once a day. I didn't take it too seriously because she always has some type of injury while playing sports. During football season it was allergies. During soccer it was her foot. During basketball it was her leg. Now the shoulder. Sometimes it would hurt her. Sometimes it was fine because it "popped back in". I made some noise about getting it checked, but never did anything.  

One day during her telling me of her day she mentioned the school trainer. I asked her how she knew the trainer. She told me she had gone with another swimmer to see the woman about her shoulder. The trainer took a look at it and gave her some exercises to do. Darcy did them, returned to the trainer, who told her that after the swim season she should get her shoulder looked at by a doctor. Feeling a bit chagrined, I promised to do just that. But then I didn't because after swimming the pain went away.

Then one day she got up wrong and the shoulder popped again so I called our pediatrician. The office, which is open 365 days a year, had recently started offering night time hours for sick patients and the office manager scheduled me for that. I was unaware that those visits were seen by a nurse practitioner, someone I had never met. While I have nothing against nurse practitioners, I didn't feel that this type of appointment fell within her category, and I was right. She examined the shoulder, agreed it needed further evaluation, and gave me a list of orthopedists. She could only recommend one from the list since she wasn't familiar with any of the others having not lived in this area. The one she recommended was with the children's hospital. I left that appointment none too happy as I was hoping for at least an x-ray.

The next morning I researched my insurance providers and picked two doctors that fell on both lists. I wanted someone who dealt with sports injuries, but apparently that doesn't make the list of information on my insurance website. The first doctor was from a local practice that Connie and I have both used previously and one that didn't exactly impress me. The second name I liked because he was affiliated with the children's hospital as well as another hospital so I got the feeling he worked with children as well as adults. I called and asked for some recommendations from the woman in charge of referrals. I asked for an orthopedist specializing in sports, but the woman acted like I was asking for a million dollars. She gave me the name of the first group and then agreed with my second name when I mentioned him. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but welcome to healthcare in 2014.

I called the second guy, set up an appointment, and filled out paperwork downloaded from his website. I obviously did not read his website, but just followed his assistant's directions to the paperwork and printed it. I vaguely remember thinking I would come back to the website, but then Connie ended up in the hospital and time got away from me. Next thing I knew we were in his waiting room for the appointment.

When we walked in the place there were ten patients sitting in chairs lined up around the walls of the room. The center of the room was empty save for a tiled floor of a baseball diamond. The walls, and I mean every wall, were covered with framed photos, newspaper articles, movie posters, autographs, and letters.  A huge flat screen television dominated the room tuned to ESPN. As I stood in line at the check-in desk, I began reading those frames closet to me, the first one an autographed picture of Dick Vitale thanking the doctor for fixing him up. That led me to read the next frame, a picture of  a professional baseball player thanking the surgeon for getting them back on the field.  By the time we were called into the back office, two and a half hours later, the waiting room was standing room only and filled with high school sports players, and I had researched the guy to discover he was the team physician for the Tampa Bay Rays and considered one of the top ten surgeons in the world of professional baseball.

My eye doctor's office has framed autographed photos of famous athletes the surgeon have worked on, but those hardly compared to the walls of this doctor. Every room was covered with frames. He has repaired the bodies of baseball players, wrestlers, basketball players, tennis players, golfers, body builders, swimmers, triathletes, football players, runners, and pretty much all of our county's world class high school athletes. I didn't see a sport that he hadn't done some work on somebody. I read all of the newspaper articles in every room I was seated in, and by the time the man himself entered the room I was primed to ask for his autograph myself. Plus, I was patting myself on the back for finding the guy...by accident and luck.

The first guy who entered the room was young and tiny. Having seen pictures of the famous surgeon I knew this guy was not him. I have no idea who this guy was as he did not introduce himself. He did apologize for our long wait, but since the good doctor only holds office visits on Tuesdays and follow up surgical visits on Thursday it is normal. Darcy sat on a table facing the only wall without frames. It held instead a huge mirror that covered the entire wall in length. This guy, in a doctor's coat, stood behind her and examined her shoulder after listening to her explanation of the problem. He immediately agreed with her "popping" explanation and said she would need surgery.  "But we will let the doctor take a look at her and see what he has to say, but it is definitely posterior." He smiled and left the room. Immediately, I felt guilt at having ignored the problem for so long. Then came annoyance at whoever that guy was marching in here and declaring surgery. Then came relief at finding the best sports surgeon in our area if it came to surgery. Then came panic at what my husband, he of the belief that all doctors are quacks (yes, his own brother is a doctor), was going to say. Then came annoyance again at how quickly surgery was diagnosed especially without an MRI. Then came the guilt again. By the time the real doctor arrived in our room I was a mess of emotions.

He entered the room and immediately filled it with his presence. He is a big guy, well over six feet and he reminded me of Penn Jillette from Penn and Teller. He came into the room all smiles, his handshake strong, and he immediately read Darcy.  "She's an athlete," he said. "I can tell by the body.  Long arms. Swimmer? What stroke? My guess is butterfly." He listened to Darcy tell her tale regarding her arm. He stood behind her and rotated both shoulders. He asked her tons of questions regarding her workouts, her dry land training, and her sports history. He told her she had the shoulders and the arm to be a pitcher. He had her lie down and messed around with both arms and shoulders. "Well," he said, "it's good news. No surgery. Rehab. Tons of rehab. Although I do want an MRI just to make sure the labrum isn't torn. I don't think it will show anything, but we should make sure." I admit I stuck my tongue out at the other guy who had accompanied the great surgeon into the room.

Darcy before the MRI

I liked him. He spent time explaining his diagnosis; multi-directional instability. He talked directly to Darcy, but also included me. He had a sense of humor.  When we returned two weeks after the MRI he went over the films which showed inflammation, but nothing that needed surgery. He gave us a sheet of recommended rehab centers and lectured Darcy on doing her exercises.  He wished her well and sent us on our way. Hopefully he wouldn't have to see us again.

Whew!  Now I just have to put my magic fingers on researching rehab facilities.