Monday, May 3, 2010

Que sera, sera…

It has been almost a month since my index finger started to hurt. It is the one that I use the most pretty much for everything: chopping, pointing, clicking, scrolling, scratching, rubbing, you name it, he’s done it.

What started like an innocent soreness evolved to a point where it hurts to even open a door; the whole hand is weak and the poor little index not used to be so useless. What finally made me set a doctor’s appointment was the strange feeling of not feeling: one night, soundly slept, I suddenly woke up with “something” hitting my legs… that “something” was my arm, my right arm… completely numbed.

The doctor started by asking me the usual questions about my habits, both recurrent and recently changed, then he checked my arms , neck, back, and reflexes (with the funny little metal hammer in a cartoon-esque motion) : right arm, no reflex what so ever, not even a small jump. Part of the check up was to move the arm in question up and down, back and forth in to different positions, only to find that at certain height, no pulse what so ever. It seems like my poor little index is a case of a secondary effect of something called “thoracic outlet syndrome”… fancy term to say: your stupid over bulked-hiper developed-super flexible- deltoid and pectoral right muscles are embracing with a little too much passion the brachial plexus, which being a nerve and all, is not sending the right signals to the whole arm due to the excessive demonstration of affection. – “do you practice a lot of weight lifting or pilates?” - the doctor asked - “uhh… define a lot” – I replied back with the sarcasm of a semi- sedentary creature – “hmm.. have you had a car accident? What about a fall? No? Nothing like that? Hmmm interesting; well, we are going to order a few different X-rays, including a thoracic one to see the lungs… oh, don’t worry, that one is because sometimes the cause for that kind of compression is a tumor”.

… a tumor… it might be a tumor…ain’t that sweet? Especially when the word comes with a crispy not- to- worry sugar cover. How in the world my poor little index feeling sore ended up with a possible (but not probable) LUNG TUMOR? I took my X-ray order, drove out of there, and LAUGHED . It was comical, and I took it with lots of respect (NOT!).

A few days later, four intra-muscular doses of a cobabamide/ tiocolchicosi combo and 3 different X rays, as expected, there is no tumor (at least not an obvious lung one) but there is no huge improvement either. It is fair to say that my arm has not fallen sleep all by itself again, which is a relief. Right Index is still waiting for the verdict of who’s the sadist in charge of his suffering… is it the muscle? Is it the nerve? Is it the butler with the chandelier? Or is it the woman with the non-stop typing, day-long working and finger pointing franticly to the wrong direction in her desperate attempt to find whoever is responsible for this auto-inflicted mess.

The search for the truth continues…


  1. Y pudo más el morbo que el sueño... me encanta cómo a pesar del suspenso y el drama, logras arrancar la risa. Saludos y espero ansiosa la continuación, estoy al pendiente. Un abrazo de oso!

  2. Hey... tu dediiito!!! Yo digo que eso es un caso para Dr. House, así que a menos que lo estés viendo a él tu dedo no cesará de quejarse, hasta que el descubre que es porque eres alérgica a algo tan improbable como el flan napolitano, jajaja... suerte, Olga, y sigo pendiente del diagnóstico, eh?

  3. I say is the woman with the non-stop typing! Wait a minute...who typed this again?...I rest my case :)

    I love you amiguita!!!

  4. jajaj Esta buenisimos Olguita, realmente logras sacar muchas sonrisas con tu relato, aun cuando estamos a la expectativa de tu pobre dedo, en fin un abrazo, y esperamos todo quede en un dedo estresado o algo así, saludos y espero la continuación.....


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