In the Shop

For the first time in 10 years, I saw a doctor. I went to the Orthopedic and Spine Center of the Rockies on the recommendation of a couple of active people and saw Dr. Anderson, an osteopathic physician, my first time seeing someone other than an M.D.

To catch you up, I've become a bit cynical about the medical profession. It seems most doctors are hell-bent on moving pharmaceuticals and dealing with the symptoms rather than the disease. As I evaluated my situation and the various courses of action, I decided I would not submit to a regimen of medication. O.D.s figure out what's wrong with the body and how to fix it rather than defaulting to medication like so many physicians.

Also, what will an M.D. tell an active person? "Stop the activity AND take two of these every 12 hours." Not acceptable. Years ago, my friend Kim told me her philosophy regarding medicine is thus: "I do stuff. Your job is to help me get back to doing stuff." Couldn't have said it better myself. I was told the aforementioned course is standard among physicians in Cheyenne, and, point blank, that I would have to drive to Colorado to find a medical professional on board with what I want to accomplish. So when I saw an osteopath working at a sports medicine clinic, I was on board.

After meeting with his assistant, I had some x-rays taken of my neck. They appeared on a  computer screen in the examination room, a massive technological step from the last time I saw a doctor. I had about 20 minutes to check them out and make some observations (I'm not a doctor myself, by the way). Based on the view from behind, I saw a very unsettling curvature in my cervical spine and I planned to ask the doc about that. The view from the side showed me nothing.

When the doc came in we chatted a bit about my problems, and then he checked mobility through my shoulders, arms, neck and spine. He noted some tightness at the base of the cervical spine (nothing new there), and then got into the x-rays. I made my observation, which he explained away by noting that the camera could have been off to the side somehow. Fair enough. He pointed at the side view, noting that my cervical spine was perfectly straight — it should be curved, but with the muscles in spasm to keep my head up, the spine sat rigid rather than a relaxed curve. Huh.

So he prescribed a couple bouts of physical therapy at Smart Sports (buggy and poorly edited website, but I had to do something for the lack of pics; consider yourself warned) in Cheyenne, and actually got after me a bit for my self-imposed exile from the land of the active. "You should've kept at it," he said. "You need to maintain a routine and keep those muscles engaged." Um, doc, I thought, let me tell you about the last time I ran. Reckon you'll understand why I sat out.

With the diagnosis of a compressed cervical vertebrae and resulting muscle spasms (hell, I coulda told you the latter), as well as the aforementioned bouts of PT, scheduled for the end of the week. I went home relieved beyond the telling, and actually went running the next — 17 minutes, 30 seconds plodding through my neighborhood. Not even my first marathon or any PR was as symbolic as the sweaty and breathy jog around my sketchy 'hood. I even went out the next day and the day after that.

Friday that week I rode my bike to PT. The therapist asked me a shitload of questions, which I suppose I answered well, did some mobility tests but sent me forth with no exercises to do, which I found a little puzzling. Like the doc, she ordered (!!!) me to get back to work. "I want you to come back next week," she said. "But in the meantime I want you to exercise as normal."

Well, who am I to ignore medical professionals?