Monday, May 23, 2011
Fed up with the PT I was seeing, I saw an actual sports doc last week. An MRI the same day showed that his diagnosis of tendinosis (hey, that rhymed) was correct. He recommended a procedure called platelet-rich plasma. Dr. Moser (that's my doctor) told me all about PRP: hemotobin-this, growth-factor-that, mumbo jumbo, insurance doesn't cover it. . . . The internets, however, told me that PRP is an injection that pro athletes have been getting for years, with very promising results. If the pros do it, then it's got to be good, especially if the internet says so. It didn't sound too painful or anything. It involves having 10cc of blood drawn, which is then spun in a centrifuge in order to separate the super awesome blood from all the other stuff. The super blood is then injected into the tendon. A technique called needling is used during the injection, which is a euphemism for viciously stabbing the tendon in various areas for what seems like 10 minutes. At no point during my brief internet research did it say anything about "needling." No where did it say I would nearly pass out from the pain. Do the pros pass out? My vision went grainy like the picture on an old TV that has a coat-hanger for an antenna. I tried tilting my head in different ways for better reception. The florescent lights were very bright. The ceiling tiles were the kind with the little holes in them. "Almost there," he said. I was breathing as if I were having a baby. The similarities were obvious. I was on a table, and a man was standing between my legs. He coached me on how to breath: "Deep breaths now. That's right. Good." I heard someone start to cry, maybe myself. And then it was over. It was the happiest moment of my life. As I hobbled out, taking those first baby steps, the patients in the waiting room looked up from their magazines, pretending not to be amazed. But they were. I could tell.