It was a Thursday afternoon in October, 1994. An assembly was scheduled for the sixth graders, for an introduction to the school. Just a little late, I thought! That also happened to be my orchestra lesson day, and I was NOT happy about missing it. So basically, I skipped the assembly. I went and practiced the violin. Afterward, I went and joined one of the group activities, which were part of the whole belated school introduction thing. The group I joined was playing volleyball. I've never been athletic, but I did enjoy playing a friendly game of something, once in a while. The volleyball game was a lot of fun, and I discovered that I could serve pretty well! During the game, the ball rolled away from me, and I chased it. While running after the ball, I landed hard on my left foot and jammed my ankle. Not a big deal...I just started playing again. A little while later, the bell rang, and I ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time. My ankle hurt a little bit, but I ignored it...I had a bus to
catch! I made the bus and went home, with no real concerns about my slightly injured ankle.
I don't even remember thinking about it the next day. It really didn't matter. That night, I noticed that it was hurting more. I told my mom that I thought I sprained my ankle. I sat with an ice pack on it for a few minutes before bed. On the way to my room, I limped a little bit. I didn't even notice myself limping, but my mom did. When she asked me, I told her that it hurt.
A few days later, the pain in my ankle was even worse. That night, my mom went and dug up an old Ace bandage from somewhere. I continued to ice my ankle every day.
My mom took me to the pediatrician two weeks after I hurt my ankle. My regular doctor wasn't in, so we saw her partner. The doctor looked at my ankle and said that it might be "a little inflamed." She gave me a prescription for Children's Motrin. The stuff tasted horrible! I took the maximum dose, but it didn't help at all.
My mom's best friend, an occupational therapist, told us to get a pull-over Ace ankle brace instead of the wrap. We went to the drug store and bought one, and I wore it. It made no difference, but it somehow made me feel more secure to have a brace on.
I was playing my violin at school one day, during a practice day in orchestra. I was kind of showing off to my new friends, and I was playing really fast and loud, which is stressful on the bowing arm. After a half hour of playing like that, my right shoulder hurt, a lot! The pain was immediately severe. I went to the office for their version of an ice pack: a frozen sponge, and I kept one on my shoulder for the whole afternoon. I couldn't even move without the pain increasing, and I was miserable. This went on for days, and I continued to play the violin. No pain was going to get in the way of my practicing! Eventually, the pain lessened to a somewhat tolerable level, but never went away.
After six weeks of pain in my ankle, my mom took me to an orthopaedist at "Children's Hospital of Wisconsin." The place I now refer to as Hell. He was the head of the orthopaedics clinic there. Most pediatric orthopods have HUGE egos. This guy was definitely no exception. He looked at it, sent me for x-rays, and told me to come back in three weeks.
Around then, noticed something I considered to be weird. When I got out of the shower, my left ankle would be bright red, but my right ankle was normal color. I reported that strange observation to my mom, and she told me it was probably because of the ankle brace.
It was the day of my winter orchestra concert, in December. I was excited and a little nervous, as I always was before concerts. I practiced the songs we were playing, even though I really didn't need to. One song was called "Perpetual Motion." It went really fast with no breaks at all, and was therefore stressful on the bowing arm. I didn't care, and I was determined to play anyway! Well, my shoulder hurt worse than usual before the concert. During the concert, the pain increased, and I started to cry. I wouldn't stop...I just cried as I played. My mom was worried, since she had no idea what was going on.
When I went back to Hell, the ego took a look at my shoulder too. He sent me for physical therapy, at a sports medicine clinic close to my house.
I hated therapy, from the moment I walked in there. There was one physical therapist and a bunch of stupid assistants. They made me do painful exercises, and had very little sense of humor. One thing that they did every time was ultrasound treatments. Those were horrible! I dreaded going to PT, and I especially dreaded the ultrasound treatments.
Three weeks later, it was back to Hell for me. I reported that the ultrasound was aggravating my pain, not helping it. We stopped those. The ego looked at my shoulder, and said that it might be some nerve damage, since my pain seemed to follow the supra scapular nerve path.
I don't know how long I went to physical therapy, but I was very relieved when it was over!
I was goofing around with my friends in the hallway during orchestra, and I jammed my ankle again. The pain worsened, and I started limping. We made an "emergency" appointment at Hell with the ego. He looked at my ankle, sent us for more x-rays, and gave me an Air Brace. He told me to wear it for a few weeks, and then we'd reevaluate.
The air brace helped a little. I don't know exactly how, but it really did. Maybe it was the fact that it absorbed some of the shock from walking, maybe it was the support it gave, or maybe it was a combination of those two things. I wore it for our trip to Washington, D.C.
Sometime in the late spring of 1995, I remember another strange discovery. My ankle was extremely hypersensitive to touch, and even just brushing it lightly, THROUGH my sock and Ace pull-over brace, hurt. I thought that was very weird, and I wondered if there was something wrong with my skin.
At my next appointment at Hell, the ego decided to take me out of the air brace. He gave me a choice between a real cast and a removable walking cast. I chose the removable cast, but I wasn't happy at all! It was disgustingly ugly. The kids at school made fun of me! On top of all of that, it hurt my ankle horribly.
After a few weeks, the ego had me take it off. I went back to wearing my air brace. He ordered a bone scan in July, which was not a fun experience! He was looking for a possible hairline fracture that the x-rays wouldn't pick up, or so he said. The bone scan was just of my legs, and the table was too small for me. They literally had me hanging over the edge, for a half hour or more at a time!
They said they would have the results that Friday. Well, of course the ego didn't call. My mom spent all day tracking him down, and she finally got through to him. The scan was "interesting," as he put it. I still don't know what that means, but I take it that it was pretty close to normal.
In late August, we went to a new orthopaedist. This guy was near Hell, at the medical college, and he was a foot and ankle specialist. He had an even bigger ego than the first guy, if possible! The first thing he did was take away my air brace. I limped badly without it, and the pain was very severe. He sent me for an MRI and gait training. The MRI was annoying, but they turned on the radio. The vibrations from the machine hurt, but it wasn't too bad.
I first saw a physical therapist at the medical college. He was really cute and nice. Unfortunately, my mom didn't want to drive to the medical college three days a week, so it was back to the sports medicine clinic. I hated it even more this time than before! It was more painful, more work, and they were just plain mean. I worked my butt off, not because I thought it would do me any good, but because I wanted to get done with each session as fast as humanly possible! They let me stop PT when I was walking somewhat normally again. I never did go back to walking like everyone else though.
The MRI was normal, and our second appointment with the doctor was just plain bad. They kept us waiting for hours, with no apologies or explanations, and then he spent two second with us. My mom quit taking me to doctors, since they weren't finding anything or doing me any good.
I concentrated on preparing for my upcoming bat mitzvah. I learned to chant my Torah portion and my Haftarah portion. Our new cantor was very nice and funny, and she became a grown-up friend, and she's still a very good friend to this day, even though she no longer works at my synagogue. My bat mitzvah was wonderful, although I was still in a lot of pain.
The December orchestra concerts were coming up again. We played at the mall for the first one, and I was in tears from the pain afterward. That afternoon, I had to be at a youth symphony rehearsal, and I was in too much pain to play. My violin teacher called the director and explained my situation. That was the last rehearsal I ever went to.
We got somewhat desperate. Someone suggested that we try Feldenkreis or something like that. I went to some woman who talked about balance or something, and it didn't make any sense to me at all! Then, someone else suggested that I try the Alexander Method (I think that's what it's called). Instead, I went to a woman who did therapy for injured musicians. She was really nice, but she didn't help me at all.
My mom talked to some people, and we decided that it was time to try a new doctor. My mom called the pediatrician, and she suggested a rheumatologist at Hell. My mom made an appointment, an action that began the two worst years of my life.
