Wednesday, August 10, 2011

I Blame Turning 40.

Tomorrow I'm going to a new doctor about my running injury. That's because the sports medicine P.A. to whom I was originally referred by my primary-care nurse practitioner no longer knows what to do with me, apparently.

On Monday I got the results of last week's MRI. The cartilage around my hip looks healthy, which is good. But I still have bursitis of the hip, and the tendons that lead to two of my glute muscles are inflamed and show what sounds like some sort of wear-and-tear abnormalities, I'm not really sure.

All of this is happening after eight weeks of physical therapy, which had no discernible effect. On Saturday I got a bill for the physical therapy. After insurance, it comes to over five hundred dollars. Here you go, hospital, here's five hundred dollars for nothing. Because I have five hundred dollars sitting around that I have nothing to do with. (Truth: I do not have five hundred dollars, let alone five hundred dollars that I have nothing to do with.)

I'm starting to feel like I could do better trying to treat this thing on my own. At least I wouldn't be out more than $500 (not to mention all the co-pays).

And another thing: it's starting to get difficult to maintain my self-delusion of in-shape-ness. For awhile I told myself that I'd magically be able to keep the same body I had, and eat the same number of calories I was, when I was running 22 miles per week and doing the Shred, even though I am now basically doing next to nothing, exercise-wise, due to my injury. Then lately I've just been eating ice cream and becoming depressed about not being able to run 22 miles per week.

Send me good vibes tomorrow, that this doctor will have some answers, before I lose what's left of my muscle tone and my sanity.

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