About four weeks ago I hurt my shoulder. I hurt it doing a combination of things, lifting weights at the gym, standing at Parade Rest (see blog post: I Was Raised By Drill Sergeants), and throwing kids in the community pool. All of this combined activity pulled or strained something and the pain got so bad that I went to my doctor. (I haven't run in weeks)
In effect, I told my doctor, "This hurts, here. I can't feel here. This bothers me, there." The whole conversation lasted less than two minutes. After a quick physical check he declared that I had a pinched nerve and prescribed medicine and if it didn't work, I might need surgery. Oh, and here's a bottle of pain pills too.
I took the Prednisone which were supposed to reduce the inflammation and had some relief. I took the pain pills and got violently ill to the point I checked into the Emergency Room out of fear I was having a negative reaction to the ingredients.
After another few days - and against my doctor's advice - I went to a chiropractor who spent as much time listening to me describe my symptoms and how it happened as he did manipulating the shoulder, neck, and back to knead out old scar tissue, loosen the knotted muscle, and adjusted my spine. I traded Tramadol for Advil and ice packs.
I am at the realization that I need a doctor who treats patients as if they are on a production line and dispenses synthetic narcotic pain medicine just because. This isn't the first time I've questioned his methods, attitude, or procedure. So why I am his patient?
Americans have an addiction problem to pain pills. While that is an anecdotal comment I know that it is backed up with research and data. I do not want to be one those statistics.
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