X-Ray, MRI, Orthopedic Doctor ... Oh My!

Nearly 8 weeks ago I injured my knee in kick boxing class - always fun right?  Right.

Yesterday morning at 11:40am I received my results from the MRI that I was finally approved to have.

Allow me to start there ---- Friday, May 20th, I had an appointment at Seacoast Orthopedic and Sports Therapy.  I arrived, 10 minutes early, just as I was instructed.  Now, I don't know if you've ever had an MRI before - I personally had not - but it's not as much fun as it seems.   There is nothing fun about lying completely still, for 45 minutes, in a freezing cold trailer, in a freezing cold tube - with a freezing cold fan blowing freezing cold air on you.  Not even when they allow you to listen to music to block out the knocks, bangs, tics and other . noises . not even sounds, NOISES - that the machine makes.

Forty Five Minutes.  Completely still.  In the event that you've never had the pleasure of laying in an MRI tube, allow me to set the scene.

At Seacoast Orthopedics - on 108 in Somersworth, you pull around the side of the building - past 2 entrances, park, and enter in a small, side door with "MRI TESTING FACILITY" or something equally foreboding, scrawled above the door.  Ominous.   Through 2 sets of automatic doors, there is a large desk, in a large empty room.

Sitting at this desk is Diane - an incredibly kind and soft spoken woman, whom I had the pleasure of speaking with - 12 times while scheduling my 1 appointment (truth).  She checked me in, and then led me into a small hallway, through another set of doors, and into a small, cubicle sized waiting room.  Equipped with four chairs, and a sink.  On one end of the room is the door I came through, on the other, a glass door, that leads through a glass hallway - and then into a space ship type room.  No joke.

There is a slight ramp, steel - like the diamond plated stuff you see on pick up trucks (and what not?) - with a small step, and another set of glass doors.  Now you're in a small room, the size of a shoebox.  Where (in this case) 3 technicians are lined up, with different computers, and other electronic components, and then through yet ANOTHER set of glass doors is "the Tube" ... loaded into the back of a Semi-Trailer's . Trailer - is the MRI machine.  It's a long, large tube, with a bed that sticks out the end.  No joke, it looks like something out of a science fiction movie.   I laid on the bed, had my right knee placed into some sort of contraption, and I was set to go.

I was lucky enough to choose some music, I chose Jack Johnson -- relaxing, fun and easy to deal with for the 40 minutes I was to lay there - perfectly still ... the more I moved, the longer it would take.  I stayed as rigid as I could, and prayed for time to speed up.  Watching the countdowns on the digital clocks for each "piece" of the pictures the MRI was taking.  Thankfully, nearly 45 minutes in, I was done.  Now the waiting game through the weekend was to begin.  I thanked my technicians, asked if they'd seen anything nasty I should be concerned with - after which I received the polite smile and shake of the head, with the shrugged shoulders - no, they couldn't tell me anything.  Awesome.

Monday morning finally arrived, and the clock continued to tick ... slowly ... towards 1140am.  When the time finally came to head to the office, my mom and I got into the MomVan and headed out.

We arrived a few minutes before my appointment, and waited.  A little more.  Then More.   Then, a little more.   Finally we were called back, and Dr. Thut (pronounced TOOT - heh) arrived in the room and pulled up my "pictures" ... after looking them over, and feeling my knee again (swelling was completely evident) the diagnosis.

"I don't see any - *any* - reason for you to be having pain, or swelling in your knee, after 8 weeks of this.  There is no evidence of damage.  To the cartilage, to the tendons, the muscles, the bones, the mensici - nothing.  There is no damage here.  Right now, my instinct is to send you for some therapy, and go from there.  It's obvious to me, you feel this pain.  It's obvious to me, there is swelling, where there shouldn't be.  What's not obvious, is why.  At PT they have ultrasounds, and Dopplers - they can see things I cannot.  They can see things as they exercise your leg, they can immediately take pictures and see where the inflammation is coming from.  Right now, I think it's a question of restrengthening the knee, and going from there.  If in 6 weeks, after some therapy, you're still feeling the same, come back and see me, and we'll retest, and go from there -- maybe even entertain the thoughts of a second cortisone shot, this time in the joint.  Instead of in the general knee area as Dr. Cole did last time.  This time we'd be more localized."

In a nutshell ... There's nothing wrong with my knee, but it's still hurt, and swollen, and just -- not right.   I am cleared to walk for the Relay for Life, in June - but no kick boxing.  Nothing strenuous.  Otherwise, I'll be back at square one.    Awesome.

Animal Lovers Unite ...

It's no secret, I love animals.  I've never tried to hide that, mask that, or dim it down in anyway.

For as long as I can remember, I have had a cat, or dog, or both - I've had hamsters, mice, fish, frogs, salamanders, iguanas, chameleons, more cats, more dogs, rabbits .... Often times, more than one at a time.

Currently there are 2 dogs, and 3 cats that reside in my home.  Or well, run my home.  Dexter and her sister Pixie are 11 year old Italian Greyhounds, both of whom we rescued.  Dexy from a couple who no longer wanted the responsibility of a dog.  Pixie, from an Italian Greyhound Rescue in Massachusetts.  Also running this household is Serandipity, a feisty, bitchy 10 year old multicolored cat.  The fuzz ball that ran off for 10 days, and left her mother (me) in a constant state of panic and depression until I finally won that war, and trapped her.  Continuing on this track, we have 9 month old Gulliver Aloysius and his brother Olliver Francis.   Gullie is gray and white, with faint tan stripes on his legs, and double paws.  All four of them.  Ollie is multicolored with a white "O" on each of his sides.  Ollie and Sera have double paws on their front paws, they are all white, and look like they're mittens.

If I were allowed, and able, I would have a house full of unwanted animals.  The ones that are dropped off at the SPCA or the Humane Society with no hope of finding a warm, loving home, and end up there - for the rest of their lives.  However long or short that may be.  The SPCA Commercials?  You know the ones?  With that sad ass song playing, and all those sad, sorry looking faces - I want to pick up the phone and call them and say "Look, I want each animal you just flashed across my screen, and I want them now - send em up"

You and I both know, those are the lucky ones.  Those animals were already adopted out, moments before (or after) that commercial ever aired.  I donate to the local SPCA and I donate to the local Humane Society.  I donate money, and food, and other items needed.  I care for my pets as if they were my own babies, because, let's face it - they are.  They are my babies.

In all reality, there is a reason for this post.  There is a point I'm getting at.

Gullie and Ollie came into my life, and the lives of Mike and Em, to fill a hole that was left when Rufus passed away.  There will never be a replacement, one pet cannot ever replace the lost one.  That isn't a realistic plan, and it does more harm than good in the long run.  To ever think you can replace someone you've lost.    Gullie and Ollie's mom has had yet another litter of kittens, and so has her sister.

There is one litter that is ready to go to new homes, and the other, is merely days old.  The mom's are *finally* going to be "fixed" and then, sadly, they and all their babies, (those that are not adopted to good homes) will be dropped off at the SPCA.  Can you tell how disgusted I am?  How intensely bothered I am by this turn of events?  I have posted on a forum I'm a member of - in hopes that someone, anyone, out there knows anyone looking for a cat, or a kitten.  I cannot stomach the thought of these helpless babies (yes, moms included) sitting in a cage, until someone else comes along to take them home.  Specifically knowing, at least 1/4 if not more, will never find a new home.  Cats are in abundance.  Kittens are usually adopted out first, and my hope is - they never see the inside of a cage.

The moms?  Are beautiful.  They look like Gulliver.  He is the spitting image of his momma, and her sister.  Which makes it that much harder for me to imagine.  Gullie, in a cage.   I'm watching him play in the kitchen right now - chasing a small slipper (that Emily has *surprisingly* grown out of already) - tossing it in the air, and catching it - batting it into the other room, and chasing it.  His "siblings" may not get that chance.  I am heartbroken.

I do not understand how people cannot spay or neuter their animals.  This outcome is 100% unnecessary, specifically because there are programs out there that will help cover the cost of the procedures, and I'm sure if the owners thought about it, or tried - even remotely - to get help, it most definitely would have been found.

It angers me, that with all the help out there - people choose not to seek it.  I know times are tough, and being a pet owner is expensive - however, it is my belief - that when you find an animal, and bring it home - you should know what you are getting into.  You should know the cost.  Financially, emotionally, physically - specifically know what you are getting into.  It's not a choice for these animals, it is a choice for the person.  Some people, should never be given that choice.  With all the help out there, people should open their eyes and ears, and learn before saying "I want a Pet!!"

This brings me to the point I had when I originally started writing, over an hour ago.  If you, my faithful reader, or anyone you know is in the market for a new pet - and are ready, willing and able to take on the caring for a life of a completely helpless animal - or however that should be worded - please, contact me.

I desperately want to have these cats in loving, warm, safe and happy homes.   Sooner rather than later, so there can be no horrid decisions made.  So these babies can have a chance.

Regretfully Yours ...

It's that time of year folks!      Think about it .. what time of year could she possibly mean??

Well, I Just turned 30.  The Big 3-0.  And I have one thing on my mind.  Ready?  Prom.

No seriously.

Okay, allow me to explain.

Prom (more specifically Junior Prom, since in our high school it was the Juniors that got the "big dance") time is a busy time of year, for lots of people, and at the tender age of 30, is the one time of year I have this nagging feeling of regret.   True Story.

I graduated high school in 1999.  My junior prom was in 1998 .. there has been quite a bit of time between then and now, and I cannot seem to get rid of this ... feeling.

Now, don't misunderstand.  I went to my prom.  Got the dress, had the hairdo - even wore a touch of make up.  However, I didn't have a date.  I went with a few of my friends, which means, I didn't get to take part in the "Grand March" .. I didn't have pictures taken .. I don't have the typical Prom Memories.  I regret not taking a date, I regret not walking with my friends, and I regret not having my mom and dad there while my friends did ..... I hate this time of year.

I can only hope Emily goes - with a date, and has the typical Prom Memories that I don't have.  I have at least 14 years to worry, plan and save ... here's hoping she doesn't have this one regret that I live with.   Here's hoping in a few years, I won't live with this regret anymore either.

30 years old and I'm regretting a decision I made when I was a junior in High School.   Eck.  Time to move - don't you think?

The one thing I would change if I had the chance.  Funny how that works, the one thing I would change is to have a date to the prom .... maybe I wasn't as liked as I thought I was.