At least, my new medical bills tell me so.
Note: This blog post contains an Amazon affiliate link. Making a purchase from my link doesn’t affect the price you pay, but it will help me pay for some physical therapy. 😉
I’m no doctor (although I joke I got my medical degree from Google and a law degree from Judge Judy), but I was pretty sure shoulders weren’t supposed to make that horrible crunching sound and leave me wincing in pain.
“What do I do?” I thought. “Just get up and leave in the middle of class? Maybe I can stick it out.”
Up until that pivotal moment, my “Introduction to Pilates” class had been completely uneventful.
The Fateful Decision
I’d decided to try a free class after admitting to myself I needed to start some sort of exercise/strength conditioning. Pilates was billed as low impact but transformational, so I eagerly signed up for a free class at a nearby studio (no hate to the studio — they’ve been lovely). I was loving it — feeling stronger already! — and was planning on signing up for a membership afterward.
Until we transitioned to working out our arms at the back of the Reformer, the piece of Pilates machinery that would be my downfall. Honestly, I’m still not sure how it happened. It was that (seemingly) innocuous.
All I know is I was holding on to the upright poles at the back of the Reformer (where the pulleys are) with my left hand when the carriage I was kneeling on slid backward, pulled back by the (maybe too strong?) springs I’d attached to the carriage.
And I heard the noise.
I instantly knew this was not good. I wasn’t in pain, exactly, but my shoulder felt like it had temporarily dislocated. I shook it back in with a grimace, tried to power through a few more moves (#overachiever), and then politely excused myself from class.
“I’m pretty sure I just hurt myself,” I explained to the front desk, as I scurried out. “Sorry. But it was fun!”
Thank goodness there was an orthopedics’ office just a few blocks from the Pilates studio.
Even more thankfully, they were able to get me in that afternoon.
How Did You Do This, Again?
“X-rays are inconclusive. You might have a shoulder deformity. Go for an MRI.”
My interaction with the doctor was less than informative. I’m an “I want to look at X-rays and ask lots of questions and understand exactly what’s going on here” kind of patient. He came across to me as an “Another day, another routine injury, time for lunch” kind of doctor.
Thankfully, the MRI provider was right next door, and wouldn’t you know, they had an opening right then, right there.
“What did you do to your shoulder?”
It’s a story I’m sure I’ll become tired of telling. Yet it never ceases to elicit confused looks and subtle giggles from those I tell.
Long story short (well, this middle part, at least): I entered the MRI machine. I found it soothing (I’m weird that way). Left with a free pair of ear plugs. Told to wait 5 days for the results.
It was a long 5 days. I wasn’t in a sling, but I couldn’t really move my arm. Bras were out of the question. So was cutting food.
Did I mention I’m left-handed?
One wrong move, like an early morning stretch or reaching to close the car door, and I’d feel my shoulder pop out. So I’d walk around with my left arm glued to my side, repeating “Don’t use that arm … don’t use that arm” in the hopes that I’d remember it was, in fact, injured.
Not the most effective of treatment strategies.
What’s the Diagnosis?
Finally, it was time for the follow-up. What would be the verdict? Torn/not torn? Surgery/no surgery? I eagerly (?) awaited the verdict.
“How did you do this again?” he asked.
Huh? Did he not write it down the first time?
“Just tell me the results,” I sighed.
“Your shoulder looked deformed because you broke the glenoid,” he reported.
That doesn’t sound good.
“So it’s not inherently deformed,” he added.
Well … that’s good?
“And you tore your labrum,” he continued.
That really doesn’t sound good. (And also sounds a little risqué, if you ask me.)
“But the good news,” he said, “is that because you’re not a 22-year-old left-handed softball pitcher, you probably don’t need surgery.”
This 55-year-old left-handed essay coach took a little offense. But was also a little relieved.
“But this kind of fracture is kind of rare,” he continued. “And it’s usually associated with high-impact, traumatic events.”
“So, you’re saying I’m strong?” I thought to myself. “You go, girl!”
(Just to be clear, he was in fact not saying that. But he probably was thinking that I’m just incompetent at Pilates, which is likely a fair assessment.)
Anyway … now what?
When Life Gives You a Broken Shoulder, Go to Mexico
They gave me the jankiest of slings (which I promptly replaced with one from Amazon) and told me to move my elbow periodically and come back in a month to evaluate.
“Can I ask you a quick question,” I asked. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say.
I didn’t wait for his answer.
“So … I had this trip to Mexico for a yoga retreat booked for this Sunday. Can I still travel? No yoga, of course.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. (To be fair, it’s probably not the question he anticipated.)
“It’s a fundraiser for Midwives for Haiti.” I helpfully added.
“Travel is OK. But no yoga,” he emphasized. “And nothing that would put you off balance or at risk for falling.”
(Hmmmm, does that include margaritas, I wondered?)
“Got it!” I cheerfully took me and my broken/torn shoulder home.
And then promptly to Mexico.
I did indeed go on the yoga retreat, where I did approximately 2 hours of yoga over the course of the 5 days (shout out to Megan who looked at my modifications like a challenge) but got plenty of exercise lifting frozen mojitos and definitely became one with my broken shoulder. I reluctantly traded a rough boat ride to swim with whale sharks with a short walk to a nearby beach, where I was still able to snorkel in the shallow waters.
My broken shoulder earned me expedited passage through customs and even a brief wheelchair ride. More importantly, it branded me “one tough cookie” at the retreat. It felt kinda good to be a little badass, I won’t lie.
In my regular life, I’m usually anything but.
Three weeks later, my shoulder is still broken, but feeling a little better and slowly healing.
Even so, I wanted to get a second opinion, just to make sure I (or the first doctor) wasn’t missing something important.
After all, I may be 55, but a working shoulder feels rather important for the next phase of life, even if Pilates isn’t involved.
The door opened, and the doctor walked in.
“You’re badass,” I told myself. “A tough cookie. Remember that.”
The doctor looked at my chart, back up at me, then back to the chart.
“You broke your shoulder doing WHAT?” Ah, yes. I’ve heard this before.
“Introductory Pilates.”
Here we go again.
If you enjoyed this story, consider making a small donation to Midwives for Haiti. Tell them Julia’s shoulder sent you. You can also visit my Amazon Storefront for my must-have broken shoulder (and more) purchases.
Four Birds 