I Shoulda Been A Doctor

Doctors have a hard time believing me when I tell them about my dislocating joints.

I even had one doctor tell me that if what I said was true, he'd take me to Mayo and name the disease after himself.

It's because I don't go in to the ER when parts of my body are at odd angles. Why should I? After having these issues for fifteen years on top of being a paramedic and working in the ER (down south, they don't allow paramedics to work in the ER in Duluth)and having learned at the knee of some pretty informative orthopedic docs, I have one thing to say to docs that don't believe me. Bite me. I know a dislocation when I see it.I know a subluxation when I see it. And I know that you are going to do x-rays, perhaps give me some pain meds, pop it back in, perhaps give me an immobilizer for awhile, and tell me to take 800 mg of ibuprofen for a few days.

Then you will charge me up the yin yang for the pleasure.

I've popped my shoulders, elbows, and hips out and most recently, my thumbs and fingers. The more it happens, the easier it gets to fix. I usually only need help with the hips and elbows, and when I tell my loved ones to grab my arm at such and such angle AND DON'T LET GO, they know what's coming.

This condition, which apparantly has no name so doesn't exist, makes me kind of careful whenever I am doing something that might lead to a dislocation. I have to position my body properly before picking up heavy grocery bags or else my elbows might pop out. I have to be sure to get my feet under me properly before getting out of our claw foot tub or else my hip might pop out. You know, simple rules for living.

In all these years, the one thing that remained consistent was my knee caps. They remained firmly on the front of my legs, right where they should be. I saw a dislocated knee cap once and it made me a bit nauseated because it just looked...wrong.

Well, yesterday had me moving some furniture in the garage and while bracing my leg against a heavy desk, a kinda gross thing happened. Yeah, the old kneecap slid over to the inside of my leg all squiffy-like.

So of course I did the only thing I could do. I screamed, I started breathing rather rapidly, and I grabbed my kneecap and moved it back to where it belonged.

24 hours of ice, ibuprofen, elevation, and babying it and it has now joined the ranks of "Tales My Doctor Will Not Believe".

Sigh.