Sylvia's Journal

‘Ah, can you see the Popeye bulge?’ said the physician assistant, after she asked me to make a fist and curl my lower arms up. The diagnosis of a bicep tear was swift and did not even require a doctor (I did get to see him for a minute or so). A Google search showed that it’s a well known phenomenon and not something rare like my ankle. I suppose this is a good thing. People who use bicep curl machines or weights too much have this problem, or snow/skate boarders who have a bad fall, I learn. There’s even a Wikipedia definition of the famous sailorman’s condition. It has nothing to do with spinach.

I ended up spending the entire morning at the gigantic orthopedic-industrial complex. The machines need to be paid for so I had an X-ray – need it or not, this is part of standard operating procedures if you don’t bring one in yourself. For the long overdue MRI that was ordered I need to go to the basement some other time. That way the time spent waiting is spread out a bit more over the week.

The MRI will indicate the direction, shape and size of the tear which will inform the doctor whether it will heal itself or needs a surgical intervention. In either case it is now unlikely that I will be able to row anytime soon, or even this season. I had hoped to be on the water sometime in May. Now I think not.

When I was done at the orthopedic complex (which is located on Orthopedics Drive!), the day was so far advanced that I decided that it was hardly worth it to drive into Cambridge. I returned home and did the rest of my scheduled meetings by phone, interspersed with playing Frisbee with Chicha and cheering on Axel, who was upstairs, doing our taxes.