"Last Hand Doctor Visit (we hope)" by Troy H. Cheek on Mar 31, 2005

I went to see my hand doctor last Thursday. In an ideal world, that was the last time I'll ever see him. In this world, I'm hoping for enough luck to at least keep me from seeing him until he's old enough to get a few gray hairs. I hate seeing doctors who are younger than me. My grandfather did, too. Of course, he outlived several of his anyway.

For those who haven't been keeping track, last year I developed some occasional numbness and tingling in the two smaller fingers of my right hand. This progressed to continual numbness and pain. When I started losing gripping strength in my whole hand, I went running to my family doctor.

My family doctor sent me to a world-renowned reconstructive surgeon who worked with a group of doctors who specialized in reattaching severed hands. This was not, I was assured, because anyone so much as suspected that surgery was even a possibility. My family doctor sent me there because he was stumped and this particular hand doctor was, by virtue of his line of work, an expert in how the nerves in the hands work.

Or, in my case, how they don't.

The hand doctor discovered a problem with the median nerve at the carpal tunnel and a problem with the ulnar nerve at the cubital tunnel. Neuropathy, he called it, but since neuropathy just means "nerve problems" that didn't tell me anything. Once the numbers came back, he recommended surgical correction. Because of my line of work (I get beat up for a living) he did not want me returning to my job for at least 12 weeks after surgery.

That's three months out of work, and me with the usual mix of ongoing expenses, previous purchases, and future medical bills to pay off. Luckily, I had at least four months of accumulated sick and vacation time (the legacy of working understaffed for the last four years). Also luckily, my employer's medical leave plan would protect my position for up to 12 weeks.

The surgery went as planned, but recovery was initially a little slower than expected. In fact, right up until this very last visit, there was a very real possibility that my hand doctor would not clear me to return to work before the 12 weeks were up.

I had actually felt recovered enough to return to work some weeks prior to this. In fact, if push came to shove, I was quite willing to return to work against my doctor's wishes. Unfortunately, in order to qualify for medical leave in the first place, I had to fill out forms and provide documentation proving that I wouldn't be fit to work. I wouldn't be allowed to return to work until I could document otherwise.

The hand doctor poked and prodded, asked questions, checked my chart, and gave me a clean bill of health as far as my arm was concerned. In fact, not only would I be ready to return to work at the end of the 12 weeks, but I was actually physically ready to return to work here at the end of the 10th week. He even said that we didn't need to schedule another follow-up appointment and I could just call for one if any problems developed at a later date. Joy!

The next day, I checked with the Occupational Health department at work and was informed that it didn't matter if a world-renowned reconstructive surgeon was quite pleased with the job he'd done on my arm, I still needed clearance from their own general practioner before I would be allowed to return to work.

If I remember correctly, my pre-employment physical consisted mostly of bending over to show them my back worked, turning my head and coughing to show them I didn't have a hernia, getting my blood pressure and temperature taken, and taking a leak into a cup. In and out in less than 10 minutes. And the doctor doing the hernia test was cute enough to make any inconvenience worth it.

My return to work physical consisted of all that as well as vision test, EKG, reflex test, going over my complete medical history, listening to my heart and lungs, several other things I can't remember offhand, and a strength test. And the doctor this time was not nearly as pretty.

For the strength test, I had to squeeze these handles which measured my gripping strength. The numbers were adequate and, more importantly, roughly equal. This means that the hand which had been weak due to nerve damage had regained some strength. This is my dominant hand and had no doubt been stronger than the other one prior to all this starting. It may regain more strength in the future, but for now I'm happy enough with what I got. I'm still squeezing the Hell(tm) out of that stress ball, just in case.

I'd tell you the numbers, but the doctor wouldn't tell me because they would have no meaning for me. Whatever that means.

I took all my new forms and documents over to personnel so that they can approve and file and do whatever else they need to do so that I can return to work as scheduled at the end of my 12 weeks of medical leave. That's when I was informed that the medical leave only applies as long as I have a medical problem. The doctors had just cleared me of any medical problems, so medical leave was cancelled as soon as they got the papers approved and filed. I was expected back to work immediately. In fact, I seriously think that if I'd been wearing my uniform they'd have put me to work right then. A couple of them seemed seriously offended that I didn't seem enthusiastic to return to work.

I went and spoke with my boss who like me had been under the impression that 12 weeks of medical leave was 12 weeks of medical leave even if I recovered a week or so ahead of the original schedule. The kid he had hired to fill my spot while I was gone was expecting to work at least another week. More importantly, the boss was trying to get a new position in the department approved by upper management. If approved, he was planning to keep the kid on full time. He would get an answer on the new position next week. If the kid was still on the schedule, it would be a no-brainer to move him to the new position. If, on the other hand, the kid was no longer on the schedule because I had returned to work, then it would take a considerable amount of time, effort, and paperwork to hire him for that position. The boss might even be required by policy to advertise the job opening and take applications for a few months before hiring anybody. The kid couldn't go that long without a paycheck.

However, the deciding factor was that I'm a lazy, no-good S.O.B. who was looking forward to another week off as originally scheduled. I pointed out to the boss that I still had a considerabe amount of vacation time left over and could do with one more week off to catch up on some previously made plans. He approved and that worked out best for everyone, I think.

During this week off, I've had a chance to visit with my regular doctor who says that my cholestorol has gone from "why aren't you dead?" to "a little high." Well, a little high for a normal person. Apparently, as a diabetic, I'm supposed to be striving for a much lower target number. Blood sugar and other lab results are looking more like human and less like Denebian slime devil. Oh, and even though my blood pressure was finally within the normal range, I got a new blood pressure pill to add to my regiment, since somebody recently decided that diabetics need their blood pressure to be lower.

I believe a similar creeping change in the acceptable weight range explains how I've managed to lose over 50 pounds from my all-time heaviest yet somehow am by percentage more obese than I've ever been in my life.

One last medical-related update: Over the last month or so, I've developed numbness, tingling, burning, and just plain pain in a certain area of my left leg. I was afraid that this was another one of those neuropathy things like in my arm, but it turns out that people who are overweight, wear tight pants, wear tight belts, or carry a lot of equipment on their belts tend to pinch the nerves running down into the legs and cause exactly these symptoms. As it happens, I'd gained weight during my recovery from the arm surgery. No surpise there. When I recovered well enough to start getting out of the house again, I discovered that my loose pants were suddenly tight and my tight belt was even tighter. This was, curiously enough, about when I started noticing the problems with my leg.

Which reminds me... When I do go back to work, I have to start carrying my radio and pager in a different position on my belt.

Copyright 2005 by Troy H. Cheek. Reprint with prior written permission only. Comments and questions to