I sat in the surgeon’s office waiting my turn. Here I was again. I’d just had knee surgery and now my elbow was so problematic that I couldn’t do much of anything. Should people wonder about exercise and the damage it does? Maybe it’s not worth it.
Then I started to take inventory of the 30 or so people also in the waiting room. I don’t know why any of them were there, but one thing was abundantly clear...they weren’t there because they’d hurt themselves working out. I’ve measured body fat for the last 25 years and think I’m qualified to judge that about 90% of the people in the room were obese. If the medical care statistics I’d been reading lately were accurate, most of these people were here because their poor nutrition and lack of exercise had led them to obesity and it’s side effects...high blood pressure, type II diabetes, high cholesterol and other issues related to their cardiovascular systems. More importantly to me...they were ‘out of the game’...there was little chance they could be active participants in fitness related activities because they were simply too out of shape.
When I met with the surgeon I asked about my observations. “You are so right, John. Keep working out. These little hiccups are nothing compared to what so many of them are going through,” he said.
He looked over my knee first and determined that there was no fluid in it. “You’ve ridden 1,000 miles in four weeks on an arthritic knee which just underwent surgery. Do you suppose you could cut back just a little?"
He mentioned that he could inject a fluid/cushion into my knee to help with the arthritis, but didn’t want to do that until I’d tried cutting back to four days a week of riding and a little less mileage. I kind of agreed to that. Then he began examining the elbow. He prodded and probed and when he found the really sensitive spot, I rose a foot off the examining table.
“A bit sensitive there?” he said, grinning. “I think we’ll shoot some cortisone in there and see if that won’t calm it down. You’ll have to lay off all pulling and lifting exercises for at least three weeks,” he concluded.
“Doc...you’re killin’ me here. I can’t run or lift for three weeks and I have to cut back on the cycling. Kayaking and swimming are out, too since I can’t pull with my right arm. But if you think it’ll make a difference in the long run...shoot that cortisone in me and I’ll be good,” I said.
I’d had a cortisone injection in my knee the previous summer and was amazed at how quickly it had alleviated the symptoms. I was expecting a similar experience. I would be sorely disappointed. He laid me on the table and grabbed my arm firmly. When he jammed the needle into my elbow, I fought the urge to scream out loud. He seemed to be moving it around...searching for the spot where he could cause me the greatest amount of pain and succeeding more than once. I gritted my teeth and winced. Finally, it ended.
“That bastard really hurt,” I said.
“Yeah...they tend to,” he said.
And it kept hurting for the rest of the day and throughout the night. I iced and stretched, as directed, but with no relief. Cortisone was once my friend. Not anymore.
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