I went to the physical therapist today, and now I have a third diagnosis. It's not a slipped disk; it's not shoulder impingement syndrome; it's frozen shoulder. Sounds like something you'd find in the meat case.
The bad news is, it can take up to three years to heal. The worse news is, the treatment involves torturing myself three times a day.
The worst news is, 800 milligrams of Motrin makes me feel like wobbly jello. Not sure alcohol mixes with that—so much for that trunk full of wine I brought home from France.
The only thing I can think of that may have caused it is when I fell a few months ago, on to my hard tile floor. I may have caught myself with my arm. (Yeah, I fall a lot. I fell again in the hotel room, which had a raised portion of the floor. Bruised and scraped the same knees I bruised and scraped a couple of weeks earlier.)
I know, you're thinking I'm going to turn WDIK? into a sick blog where I whine about my frozen shoulder every day, cataloging the day to day struggles of a frozen shoulder sufferer. Or a support blog, where FS sufferers gather to exchange tips: "Try using a wire coathanger to unhook your bra!"
But I hate sick blogs. And photos of frozen shoulders aren't nearly as nice as photos of flowers.
So I will refrain from boring you with my day to day struggles to open the oven door and unhook my bra. I will give frozen shoulder the cold shoulder.
And ice packs and Motrin.
