Diagnosis - February 17, 2006

I'm so sick of being sick.

I'm so fed up with the constant pain and immobility.

I would NOT do well as a parapalegic, I know that much.

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So, after a week and a half of near inactivity, I set out today in the wild alleys of Cozumel to see a doctor.

Yikes.

Well, we should start at the beginning...

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Last night, my manager came and told me that if I didn't go to the flying rehearsal tomorrow morning, I would be banned from flying for the rest of my contract. Horrified, I told her that I had the doctors appointment, to which she stared at me and said "Well, it is what it is." She promised to do all that she could, but she said it was out of her hands.

So last night, I got to worry myself to sleep about whether I would be allowed to fly, which is something I've been training for, looking forward to, and falling in love with for about three months now. I was crushed at the possibility.

This morning, I went to the doctor and hoped they had booked me an afternoon appointment so I could fly, and once again, to my horror, it wasn't- it was for that morning. I burst into tears, feeling the dream of becoming an amazing aerialst slipped away. The nurse asked what was wrong and my manager explained the situation, leaving out the fact that I would be doing something very hard on my back. (She called it 'training') He said I could go for an hour, so I squeezed in the rehearsal, and I think (but am not sure) they'll let me fly.

Anyway, a port agent came (an hour and a half late) to pick me and another sick person up to go to the doctor. We drove around Cozumel lost for a bit, and I got to see some of the destruction from the last hurricane. The tiny concrete houses were in shambles, some tacked together with corrugated metal, but the poverty there was apparent, and clashed with the gauche flamboyance of the 'strip' in front of our ship, which was gorged with overstuffed American tourists.

We found our doctors office and sat around for about three hours. Then, I got an x-ray from a machine that looked straight out of 1963 and met with the doctor. He asked me questions in broken english and told me that I had actually suffered a back sprain and not a muscle spasm. He said I would be ok, but didn't mention any therapy or anything that I should do to heal.

Then we looked at my x-rays....

And looked....

And looked....

He seemed perplexed and when I asked what was wrong, he showed me my own spine.

~~ Looking at the inside of yourself gives you the most actue sense of vulnerability... ~~

At any rate, he pointed at my saccral region (or my lower, lower back) and pointed at something that looked like a vertebrae, only it was attached to my hip.... and it was sideways.

"I don't know what that is." he muttered. "And you have scoliosis." he said, tracing the soft curve of my spine.

Two things I had no idea about.

So, he referred to a spine specalist, since he's an orthopaedic doctor, and has only been in the field for ONE YEAR.

Yeah. Mexican doctor, one year of experience, no therapy suggestions- this was going really well. (At least he was very nice about everything...)

So I re-boarded the ship expecting to go though rehearsals slowly like I had been doing, only to be stonewalled. "Nope, you're unfit for duty." my manager told me briskly. So, teary eyed, I watched yet another run of "Piano Man" with two other people in my parts.

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I'm so tired of the pain.

I'm so sick of all the beauracratic run-around.

Todrick put in his two weeks notice yesterday. So another boy is leaving.

I'm starting to think that's not such a bad idea...