Appointment with a Dexa Scan

Not me, but looks comfy, right?

The young girl in uniform called my last name, and I rose from my waiting room chair. As I looked up, another lady was already following her down the hallway. I thought to myself, there must be two Morrisons here today. I stood still and watched as the uniform turned back to listen to something the other Morrison was saying, and then the imposter turned to the right to enter the blood draw area.

The uniform looked back at me, and I asked, “Constance?”

She nodded. “I’m Dallas and I’ll be doing your dexa scan today.”

“I think you’re the tech who did my scan two years ago,” I replied.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been here seven years.”

“You should be an expert by now,” I said. She didn’t laugh. Maybe she smiled. She had her back to me.

I followed her down the hallway and turned left at the end. We entered a tiny room with an exam table centered under the bone scanning machine, a swivel stool at the table’s end, a shelf above it, an apparatus was attached to the wall to measure height, a cumbersome scale next to it, and in the opposite corner a desk and chair for Dallas’ computer. Free space was at a premium.

“Take off your shoes and back up to the wall so I can get your height.” I complied as Dallas cautioned me not to put any weight on the shelf. I had grabbed it as I slipped off my shoes. “Five feet and ¼,” Dallas read off as she asked me to step away.

“Now for your weight.” I stepped up onto the scale and Dallas played with the sliding weights until the bar stabilized. “146,” she said.

“Do you have any metal in anything you’re wearing?”

I responded with a no since I had read the instructions before coming, but Dallas continued with her questions.

“No zipper in your pants? No metal in your bra?”

“No and no.”

“Okay, lie on your back on the table and we’ll get started.” She placed a wedge under my knees, and sat down at her computer. After a moment or two, the scanner slowly moved over me several times, searching out the secrets of my spine. I was comfy, but it didn’t last. Dallas was removing the wedge, and told me to straighten my legs as she sat back down. That strained my back. Soon the scanner was moving again, back and forth over my hips. As it came to a stop, Dallas turned toward me and said, “Now turn your toes inward as though you are pigeon-toed.” I did what I thought was a perfect performance, but soon heard Dallas say, “Can you turn the left foot in more?” That hurt some more, but apparently it was enough as the scanner began to move again, and after a few more ups and downs, we were finished, and Dallas said I could sit up. I felt as though I had been holding my breath for the entire time.

Dallas asked if I was seeing my doctor to discuss the scan, and I said I had an appointment in just a few minutes so she printed out the results and handed them over to take with me. I slipped on my shoes. She opened the door to let me out, said to turn right at the hallway and have a nice day.

I exited the laboratory’s waiting room, turned right again, and walked down another long hallway to my doctor’s office. I was twenty minutes early. I signed in and to my surprise was quickly called to go back to an exam room where the nurse took my blood pressure and told me the doctor would be in soon. He was. I handed him the scan information, and he pulled up my previous scan to compare. My spine numbers were better, but my hip numbers were either the same or slightly worse. He recommended I continue my same medicine for two more years.

Then I told him about my wrist, how it was painful to move certain ways, and how very painful it was to write. I told him I was a writer and also liked to draw and paint, and my wrist was definitely cramping my style. I asked if it could be carpal tunnel syndrome. He immediately tried to bend it downward, and I winced in pain. “No,” he said. “I believe it’s arthritis. But just to be sure, I’m going to send you to get an x-ray,” something my friends in life history agreed would happen.

Well, to make a long story short, I got the x-ray and a few days later got the call from the doctor’s office that, yes, it was arthritis, no broken bones. I was to do what the doctor had said, apply the over-the-counter arthritis cream twice a day and take a 220 mg of Aleve two times a day for more relief from the pain. I was already using the cream but not on a schedule, and sometimes I take Aleve, when I anticipate a busy day. I believe my wrist is positively responding to the scheduled use of both. I’m moving it more without pain, but writing continues to be difficult. I’m thankful my dexa scan numbers improved, and really appreciated the encouragement and advice from my life history group about my wrist problem which was the topic of my last month’s story. Life is so much better with friends whose life history covers just about everything you could ever imagine.

From a Model T to a Ferrari

I know you’ve heard that saying that getting old is not for sissies. I’m finding out every day how true that is. It seems that one health complaint will improve as another one takes its place.

Earlier this year, I noticed some pain in my hand and wrist when I tried to take notes or write out checks. I decided it was just another form of my arthritis and went on about my business thinking it would soon go away on its own. It didn’t. It persisted and very gradually grew more painful until it hurt to use my right hand for every day things like combing hair and brushing teeth. By then, I had researched through Google and decided it must be a combination of carpal tunnel and arthritis, but what to do, so many conflicting opinions and treatments. Wear a wrist brace at night, but, no, wrist braces don’t help. Do these exercises, but they can make it worse. One contrary blast after another, and still I had no definitive diagnosis.

My next doctor’s appointment is November 20^th, and I am determined to wait until then. But what should I do in the meantime, when it is continually giving me more and more trouble. I did what I usually do, adapt. I tried using my left hand for more things although I have found out I am definitely not ambidextrous. Writing with my left hand is out of the question, illegible even to me.

Then, another impossible task popped up that I hadn’t expected. I like to make veggie chili with canned black beans, pintos and tomatoes. I grabbed my manual can opener, which isn’t a wimpy one but very heavy-duty, one I’ve used for many years. 

I crunched it onto the can and tried to turn the hefty black handle. I found it impossible to do. It moved not even a centimeter, and my wrist was screaming at me to stop. I turned the whole setup around and proceeded at a snail’s pace with my left hand, and, finally, I completed the task many minutes later. Well, I thought to myself, at least I know how to take care of this problem. At this point, my online-research of electric can openers began.

I had no idea how many kinds there were, from hand-held battery-operated ones to the free-standing electric ones with knife sharpeners, bottle openers and even plastic bag openers. I remembered having an electric can opener in my younger days and thought of my distaste of the grimy gooey mess that ultimately formed on the rotating cutting wheel. Certainly, time and ingenuity had made improvements to this problem. And, yes, as my fingers did the walking, I found several with removable cutting heads that would rinse clean under running water. That’s what I wanted so now on to price and availability. And as you might expect, the dreaded Walmart won the contest.

I say “dreaded” because I try to avoid going to Walmart. Walking miles from the parking lot to get to the small-appliance section, rubbing elbows with thousands of sneezers and coughers, steering a wobbling, misaligned shopping cart, and waiting in a check-out line until my legs needed shaving were not my idea of a happy shopping experience. But I wanted that can opener, and Walmart had it for $19.96.

So on Saturday next, I drove the few miles to my closest Walmart store. I was not disappointed, I did walk miles, I rubbed elbows with coughers and sneezers, and I drove a wobbly cart. But I had no trouble finding the prize, and when I made my way back to the long check-out lines, I decided to use the self-service check-outs. Several were standing empty, just waiting for me. With only one item I was out the door in record time while grass was growing under everyone else’s feet. And when I got to my truck, a nice couple with what looked like a two-year old, asked to take my cart back to the store. They promptly settled little Mikey in the shopping cart seat as I sweetly smiled, “Thank you!”

Back at home I unboxed my opener and positioned it on the counter near the sink where the cleaning would be handy. Mopsy, my kitty, rubbed against my leg, and I thought why not, let’s try it out on a can of tuna. So that’s what I did. That can opener has to be the Ferrari of can openers, easy to start, quiet as a mouse, no sloshing or dripping, and automatically stopping while still holding the can like a champ. I am a happy camper, going from a Model T manual opener to an electric Ferrari with hardly any effort. So, take that carpal tunnel! One thing outsmarted at least.