I went to see another doctor yesterday. The long saga of my trials and tribulations with pain in my elbow ended at that appointment.
After 16 months of you-name-the-problem and countless attempts at treatment, it turns out it's not a problem with my elbow. It's a problem with my wrist. So sayeth the "best" ortho surgeon in the county.
All this means is that before I saw this new guy yesterday, I've been seen by one general practitioner, one ortho specialist, two ortho upper extremity specialists, one chiropractor, four physical therapists and countless nurses and physician assistants. I've taken pain pills and every type of anti-inflammatory medication you can name. I've had five cortisone shots. I've had arthroscopic surgery. I've had a newfangled cascade procedure (which sounds way nicer than it is). I've moaned and groaned and bitched and whinged and cried my way through all this.
For naught, new guy says. For naught.
I got another cortisone shot yesterday and a wrist splint. I'm not to use my wrist for three weeks. (Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!) If it's no better and I say to him --and I quote -- "This sucks. I want this shit to stop." -- he'll try to repair the damage surgically.
In the meantime, no using the wrist.
Which begs the question:
If Pete doesn't catch me using my wrist, am I really using it?