Then he made the usual comments about how young I was to have this problem! Goodness me! Young! Arthritis! (Or arthuritis as we call it in Dublin). Depends who you ask, I mutter, when they say that. And did I do a lot of sport to cause all this wear and tear? Err, no. Luckily! If I had, I'd be totally banjaxed, to use the correct medical term, and in early retirement.
[Aside: Do you ever wonder if you might have an undiscovered talent? What if you just never got a chance to shine at curling, croquet or lion-taming? Maybe you could have been a natural at the luge? I have a freakishly good sense of smell, which is the only one I can think of.
If only smelling was an Olympic sport.
The long and short of it is that I have to have the manipulation under anaesthetic, where they lever your arm back and forth, and depending on how that goes, maybe a shoulder-oscopy, (the proper word escapes me now), because the improvements I have seen don't seem to register with Twinkly Mr. But this is okay, if it's really the cure. I don't want to be Twangy Pearl the Arthritic Woman.
It will happen early in December, the same week as my IVF appointment with the ChildDr. They say I'll be physically be up to seeing her on the Friday. Though I don't know if this is optimistic, from the psychological point of view. (Advice welcome). I might try to move the ChildDr forward, although this might be tricky as she is going on her holiers after that. (She is only twelve, after all.)(Hee! Sorry, Doc).
(I am spreading the word).