by JeffIt's been three months since my surgery. My shoulder still hurts. It's a deep pain that feels like it could be relieved some by extracting a core sample with a center punch. I'm hoping that it's only paranoia but I feel like the healing process is not going as well as it should. I mean, it feels better than it did two months ago but then two months ago I was still swollen up from having my joint sliced open and pumped full of saline solution.

Now it feels just like it did before the surgery. And the surgery was my last real option. If this doesn't take, I'm not sure what I'll do next, so yeah, I'm pretty scared. I'm waiting in my surgeon's office though and hopefully in a few minutes he'll put my mind at ease.

"Jeff?"

I look up from my laptop at his assistant. She's librarian-cute, wears shoulder length hair that frames thick black glasses, but also wears a wedding ring. Since I came in for my first consultation I've been thinking of asking her how seriously she takes it-- that whole marriage thing-- but have only gone so far as to flirt with her. When I schedule a follow-up appointment or ask her to validate my parking the words are thick with innuendo. She never reciprocates and I'm pretty sure she's offended by my blatant implications.

"Jeff, Dr. Geraldi will see you. Come with me."

I follow her to the exam room. From three paces back her butt looks like a Seychelles nut. I want to eat it. She leaves me to read a Time Magazine article on the GOP's lack of leadership but I don't have time to finish it before Dr. Geraldi shows up.

"How's the shoulder doing?"

No introduction, no formalities. He's a busy guy.

"I'm worried about it doc."

I like calling him "doc." It reminds me of a kinder, simpler time, when breakfast was lousy coffee and lunch was killing Krauts with a .45. It also gives me hope. Doc fixes things. If all I have to do is see doc, how bad could it be?

"It still hurts in a lot of the same ways that it used to. I'm hoping I'm just scared for no reason, but I'm worried the surgical repairs didn't take."

He goes through my chart, flipping page to page and ruffles his brow doing some math in his head.

"Like I told you before, a procedure like this can take up to six months to heal. I say three months is the minimum, but something like this can easily take up to six months." He smiles reassuringly. "I wouldn't worry just yet."

"I hope so, doc. I do."

He puts down my chart and lifts my right arm, applying pressure at varying angles. This is a series of joint tests that were actually invented by a surgeon on the other side of town. He's considered the best shoulder guy in the world and while I did have a consult with him, I wasn't able to have him cut me up due to insurance issues. Tim Ferriss recommended him to me. Tim had his whole shoulder rebuilt by the guy and now Tim insists that his repaired shoulder is stronger than his "good" one. I can't help but wonder if things would be different had he been my doctor.

Dr. Geraldi runs through the gamut of "does this hurt, does that hurt." "Push against me, pull away." Each time he comes to some sort of conclusion in his head and factors that information into the next test. Once this is all said and done he picks my chart back up.

"Jeff, we'll see where this goes. I'm going to write you a script for another four weeks of physical therapy. Keep doing what you're doing for rehab and I'll see you in a month."

"And the healing?" I'm practically begging for good news.

"We're only at three months, like I said. It's not abnormal for you to still be healing at this point. To be honest, if I had to guess, I'd say you're halfway home."

This is good news. I've already waited a year. I can wait another three months. My worry was that the fix to my labral tear did not take. It was, after all, one of those we'll-give-it-our-best-shot procedures that has no guaranteed outcome. I thank Dr. Geraldi and follow him outside to the nurse's station where he has the nurse write me the physical therapy script.

"Take it easy," he shakes my hand, "and don't forget to get your parking validated."

"You too, doc. And don't worry, I won't."

Posted by Jeff at 12:11 PM

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