In Limbo - Part 7: Out of Control

My cast is starting to break down. Not the fibreglass of course, but the layers of gortex underneath. It’s been 3 months. Those layers that haven’t matted together and begun their own, moist, science experiment are flaking and flying off into space, drains, dinner.

My GP dutifully requisitions a cast change and I pop down to visit John, my cast man. He asks how I’m doing; we briefly discuss the “incident” with my former surgeon. John says that he’s kind of a serious guy. Who’s your new surgeon, he asks. I tell him that it’s a Dr. T and ask if I’m pronouncing it right - I haven’t seen him yet. John tells me Dr. T is a good guy but did you know he works in the same office as Dr.D? I do know and I’m certain it won’t be a problem. He’s a professional after all.

I’m a little shocked by my arm when it’s unwrapped and naked under the hospital lights. It looks tiny and white but also a bit hairy and dirty-looking. John tells me that it is just dead skin and hadn’t you just come back from Mexico when I put this on? My January tan has flaked off and stuck itself to my old gortex padding. Gross.

I choose a baby blue wrap to celebrate spring and drive home with a fresh 75 dollar cast, still hot from the molding and shaping, my shrinking arm pulsing underneath. Four days until I see Dr. T. I am excited, nervous, and relieved all at once.

The phone rings the next morning and I mumble a hello through a mouthful of toast. May I speak with Fiona Bramble? It is Dr.T. He’s terribly sorry but he has reviewed my case and feels he is unable to treat me. My second, sneaky, MRI has just been forwarded to him. It confirms that I now have bilateral Kienbock’s. It is beyond my expertise, he says.

I have been waiting to see him for almost 3 months.

My appointment is in 2 days, I say. I know, which is why I am calling you personally. I am very sorry. I ask him what I am supposed to do now. He replies that he doesn’t know. Good luck, he says.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose, and I’m not. I’m stunned. And angry. So angry I can’t move or speak for several minutes.

When I can speak, I pick up the phone. I call my husband. He can’t believe it either. He almost doesn’t believe me, I feel. I call my GP’s office. Maggie, her receptionist, has known me a long time. Maggie has some understanding of my case and condition. I need to see Gillian right away, I tell her. She asks what is happening. My voice shakes when I tell her about the call from Dr.T. There is a pause. I’m sorry, did you say Dr.T called you himself? I don’t understand. That is highly unusual. That word doesn’t mean much to me anymore.

I am starting to feel crazy again. I have cried more in the last four months than in my entire life. It’s not because my wrists hurt. Or because my feelings are hurt. I have lost control over my body. Over my life.

The tears come, hot and furious.

Out of Control:

	The Chemical Brothers - Out Of Control .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine