Gonna die soon
For over a year now, I have had a running-caused injury that was diagnosed as IT band syndrome by a quack of a doctor (Marci Goolsby, don’t see her). I had 12 sessions with a physical therapist and everything hurt just as much as always and sometimes worse and I couldn’t work out nearly as much or as hard as I wanted to.
I finally saw a friend of my mother’s, an orthopedic surgeon who works with the Texas Tech football and baseball teams and did his internship with the Olympic track team. He took x-rays and an MRI and discovered that I had a stress fracture. He called me after my bootcamp class last Tuesday and said, “Hey, how are you feeling?”
ME: “Not bad. I just got back from a bootcamp class, so…”
HIM: “What is that? A bunch of squats?”
ME: “Yeah, and push ups and stuff”
HIM: “Well, I got your MRI and you have a stress fracture.”
At this point, I’m thrilled. This thing that I’ve had wrong with me for what feels like ages is finally diagnosed and can now be treated and I can get rid of it. Then, the conversation takes a terrible terrible turn. Talking about getting enough/absorbing enough calcium comes up and how am I getting my Vitamin D in dark, dank NYC? Then, there was talk of getting a bone density scan and getting worked up for osteoporosis. At this point, I’m sitting on my kitchen floor banging my head against the refrigerator. A woman has only a small window of time to stock up on nutrients before her body starts depleting them, especially important in the case of calcium and bone growth. I am 29 and this window is ostensibly closed. I felt like I had worked so hard to be in a good place body-wise for the oncome of 30 and I failed and there’s nothing I can do. I’ll just wind up a hunched over old lady who will die from tripping on her shoe laces and breaking every bone in her body. Now, I’m afraid of shoe laces. Ugh.
