Today, I saw my surgeon and I was expecting to be able to post an exciting blog entry; I was hoping for "Surgeon Waves A Magic Wand And Cures Me!" but I would also have accepted "Blog Indefinitely Postponed as Arley Serves a Jail Sentence for Taking the Surgeon Hostage Like In That Episode of 'House' But Finally Gets Answers When Some Plucky Intern Makes an Intricate Diagnosis With Only Minutes to Spare Before the FBI Open Fire." Well, I'm sorry to report that there were no fireworks/revelations/arrests/epiphanies/answers/ or throw-downs, which once again proves that my life needs to take a page out of the scripts of various TV medical dramas and wrap up after an hour.
After four hours in the doctor's office and probably 100 games of "WordFu" on my Ipod Touch, we're no closer to knowing what's the matter with me. At this rate, you'll be seeing me on one of those "Real-Life Medical Mysteries" shows along with that 16-year-old who stopped developing when she was a toddler. (The good news is, I'm getting closer and closer to my own TLC series: The Human Zombie Girl. Just in time for Hallowe'en).
After examining me, my surgeon agreed that, yes, something is clearly wrong with my hip. (Thank you, Dr. Obvious!) The X-ray, however, seems to be fine and, though we'll have to wait for the official MRI reports to know more, those look good too. Apparently, my prothesis has been nearly entirely cemented in by bone, thanks no doubt to my low-grade chai latte addiction. All is quiet on the Western front.
Now, see, this strikes me as strange. I can understand how some things would be very hard to diagnose. If you come in with abdominal pain, for example, it could be anything from ovarian cancer to a bad corndog to labour pains (there is, after all, an entire TLC series about women who didn't know they were pregnant). But how can two major muscle groups just stop working without any rhyme or reason? It's not like malevolent hip gnomes cast an evil spell on me or someone is jabbing pins into an Arley voodoo doll; (cut to some disgruntled Rhet 105 student cackling evilly and shouting, "I'll show her how to write a thesis statement. A thesis statement of pain!").
I know that the advent of quantum physics has shaken up our worldview--seriously, how can a thing be in two places at once?--but I maintain that the whole "causality" thing should still be in operation and that if two major muscle groups surrounding my hip stop working, there should be a concrete cause and that cause should be obvious on one of the many tests I've had. At least, however, my surgeon seems to understand that I'm currently sitting on the sidelines of the game of life and he needs to figure out what's the matter so that I can be subbed back in. He's going to have little chat with my neurologist once the MRI reports come in see if they can't figure out what's wrong with me. More tests may have to be performed, specifically something like "deep nerve testing." Why do I have the sinking feeling that my poor anti-ass is in for a lot more electrified needles?