My MRI follow-up

I have heard my brother and my husband tell me for years that doctors are quacks and only out for money. Recently, after I wrote my blog entry about my upcoming visit to the neurosurgeon regarding my bulging disc my male friend emailed me a link to stretches, telling me that the doctor would just want to do surgery first. While I appreciated the link I had read up on my condition and was anticipating some physical therapy and maybe some shots to the back. I headed out to my appointment.

I had done some research on the surgeon my doctor recommended. I was excited to see that he had attended a college Madison is applying to and decided to ask him about that. I also asked my doctor friend to recommend someone and he gave me two names, one of whom was this same guy. I figured I was good to go, made the appointment, filled out the hundred page forms printed off the website, and set off for the appointment.

First in the room was the PA. He was young, bald, and interested in what I had to say. He listened to my saga and told me I had four choices. One, I could live with my condition. I've lived with it for eight months. I exercise. I have no leg pain. Before he could tell me my other three choices, the door opened and the neurosurgeon entered. He too was young, dressed to the hilt, and wearing large, square glasses that I think were more for show than sight. He shook my hand, took the seat that the PA had vacated, and looked at me. I looked at the PA.

Me: "Seriously? He comes into the room and you jump up and give him your seat?"

PA: "It's his favorite chair. And this one has wheels and might roll out from underneath him and we can't have the surgeon injured."

The surgeon viewed our exchange through his glasses without blinking. The PA gave him a modified version of my history, and before he could add anything else, the surgeon told me I had a herniated disc that was pressing on my S1 nerve and that I needed surgery. Boom. That was it. Validation for the men in my life.

Me: "Seriously?"

Surgeon: "You have a significant rupture, but we'll fix that with surgery."

Me: "I'm not planning on having surgery."

Surgeon: "Can you live with this?"

Me: "I suppose so. I have."

Surgeon: "Then why are you here?"

Me: "My primary sent me here." We established who that was. "I want to know if there are things that I'm doing in my daily life or when exercising that are harmful."

Surgeon: "No. You can do what you want."

The PA tried to lighten the mood. He worked hard at making the surgeon a better guy than he was acting. He told him that he had not examined me yet. They both told me that the longer I waited the less my nerve might bounce back. I hopped up on the examining table. The PA washed his hands. The surgeon remained seated next to the table. I took the time to ask him about the college that he had attended. He told me he loved it. We discussed it some.

Surgeon: "Do you want to take off your shoes?"

Me: "Do I want to or do you want me to?"

Surgeon: "Take off your shoes."

The PA examined me. I raised my legs and he tried to push them down. I pointed my toes and he tried to push them back. I pushed forward on his hands while he tried to push back. He tested my reflexes. He tickled both legs and asked how they felt. He tickled my feet. The only test that got their attention was when he tested my reflexes behind my ankle. It was the last thing he tested and they both nodded their heads with excitement. Yep. See. Nerve pinched. Duh.

Surgeon: "Consider the surgery."

Me: "I will. I'll think about it. I've always figured it was in the cards. I just wasn't able to do anything before now. I've been a caregiver for my mother and knew dealing with this wasn't an option, but she died a few months ago, and I figured F**k it, I need to deal with this. Oh, sorry, about that."

Snickering. Laughs.

PA: "No worries. We've heard worse. We do hear worse."

Me: (looking at surgeon) "Are you the best?"

Surgeon: "....yes"

Me: "Jeez, a little hesitation there."

PA: "He is the best. I've told him, and he is smiling because he knows what I'm going to say (I didn't see a smile). I've told him that no matter where I am, even if I'm half way across the world in China, I want him to fly to me to do any type of neurosurgery."

Me: "I looked you up. You have a good rating. My buddy, (insert name) gave me your name as someone he would recommend."

Surgeon: "The radiologist?"

Me: "Yes."

Surgeon: "My wife works in his practice."

Me: "So, he was earning brownie points?"

I wasn't trying to be a smart ass, but I was annoyed. I was so annoyed that I forgot that the PA had originally given me four choices. If the first choice was live with this and obviously another choice was surgery, what were the other two choices? The surgeon ended up explaining what he would do and wrote it down for me, telling me to research it. He shook my hand and left. The PA did the same, but then he returned and gave me a booklet on exercises. I didn't remember the choice thing until I punched the elevator button upon leaving. Sigh. 

Research just confirmed what I wanted in the first place. Surgery is the last option. Before that is an option physical therapy, drugs, and shots should be tried. Surgery is not a guarantee. I'm going to try things on my own first. I need to get weight off. I'll continue with the exercises that I've been doing off and on for months. I'm walking daily. If things don't change, I'll seek out another opinion maybe with an orthopedist or go back to my own doctor for some therapy. And I'll try not to become soured on the medical profession.