My Toughest Fight: Shoulder Surgery at 38 years old PART 2
{I am writing this series while recovering from surgery. I am three weeks out from the operation and I've got some time on my hands. I hope this story can inform and inspire anyone that is suffering shoulder problems.}
When we left off in the last chapter I had finally decided to see a doctor about my shoulder dislocations. But life took its twists and turns and years passed before I scheduled an appointment. My coaching career had some good momentum and I had been traveling for pro fights and amateur tournaments all over the US and even into mexico. My son was growing up and I didnt need to carry him around much anymore. I got engaged to the love of my life and we bought a house. Life was better than ever, but my shoulder was the worst it had ever been. I suffered some terrible dislocations that took way too long to relocate and caused extreme pain. The kind of pain that sets a man to shaking and sweating. I finally had enough and made the appointment for an MRI.
The scan showed a torn labrum. Torn nearly all the way around, there was no question that surgery was the only option. Yet again I postponed it, I had work to do. I had a heavyweight golden gloves champion who needed mitt work, we had regionals and nationals coming up. I had pro fights to work as an assistant and cutman. The surgery would have to wait till the end of the year, when things slowed down around the gym. Or maybe I was just looking for another reason to avoid my fate.
I spent the summer training my ass off. Whipping myself into shape. I started thinking about surgery like a fight. I knew what was coming would not be easy. I knew that I would be facing adversity, that I would struggle. That I would have to endure pain. But I was no stranger to pain, a decade in the boxing gym will make anyone familiar with pain. I knew fear. Anyone that has stepped through the ropes knows what it's like to face fear. And much like a fight I knew that I would get through it, and that I would be better for it in the end.
November 2nd came and I walked through the doors of the OHSU orthopedic surgery facility. I was nearly transcendent, watching myself change into the gown, the silly yellow socks. I nodded in quiet agreement to a hundred questions, I was hardly there in spirit. This day was just for my body. I drifted off somewhere far away, leaving my body on the table where they did the long awaited work on my shoulder.
I woke up in a new place, my arm hanging numb at my side in a sling, head pounding like I had pulled an all nighter at the bar. I felt victorious. Through the pain and confusion of that moment I felt pride. I had done it, finally I had done it.
Eight anchors, drilled into the bone. Seven for the labrum and one on the humorous head, locking down the rotator cuff. Officially it was a “Shoulder Arthroscopy, Labral repair, Capsular Shift, Decompression of paralabral cyst and Remplissage”. They rolled me outta there as soon as I was awake and sent me home to recover. I had a nerve block catheter into my neck, and a pouch full of medicine. The meds numbed my entire shoulder and arm, completely. It was awkward but I didn't feel a thing for two days after surgery. I didn't need to take any pain medication, besides some ibuprofen for swelling.
During those first days of recovery I began to realize that the surgery was not the fight. The surgery was the start of the fight, the first bell ringing out to let me know the battle had begun. I sat there on the couch and thought about what was coming. 6 weeks in the sling followed by three months of physical therapy. They said I couldn't punch again for 6 months. The fight had just begun.
{Thanks for reading. We’re almost up to present time in the story. In the next chapter we’ll talk about the recovery process through the first three to four weeks. And from there I will write updates as the process continues.}
