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Golden Rule: Always get a second or even third opinion! Walking out of the ER, my head was spinning. I know the dr had just said that it was a bad sprain, but what if it was something more? My parents were on the same thought process. We were all in agreement, I needed to see an orthopedic specialist. However, when I explained my concern and plans to see a specialist, two very influential people in my life hated the idea. My coach and the PT. Remember, a good PT is cautious when treating new injuries, crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's, but most importantly listening to the patient's symptoms.. cause after all YOU know YOUR body best. The head PT for softball was pissed I went to the ER and spoke to an outside doctor. There was little concern for how I was physically feeling and how I was mentally dealing with my injury. Instead of a wave of support for a scary night, I got in trouble for not following his instructions or diagnosis. So, I did what I needed to do for my own well-being. I found myself an orthopedic specialist at the renowned Loma Linda University, only a short drive from the dorm on campus. They were very happy to set me up with their hand and wrist expert, Dr. Wongworarot. They were even more ecstatic that I had gone to the ER for imaging on my wrist. This made me feel 100 times better hearing from a nurse that having prior imaging done was the most efficient way to see a dr without the prolonged wait for an appointment. (side note: I didn't have my own car my freshman year on campus, so coordinating with friends for drop-offs and rides was a headache and a half! ) Dr. Wongworawot was able to see me within a week of calling to schedule. I was both nervous and excited to hear what he had to say. The entire time waiting for him in the room I was on the phone with my parents trying to fill out medical forms, plan out questions, and last but not least stay calm. When he entered into the room, he first asked for the initial date of injury, an explanation of the incident and if I had seen anyone else about my wrist. I told him everything. Afterwards, he twisted, turned, poked, squeezed and stretched my hand/wrist into many uncomfortable and painful positions in order to assess the extent of my injury. Most importantly, he asked me to describe the sensations of pain throughout all of it. He used this as his roadmap to the area of the wrist that I know now is called the ulnar bone. Ding Ding, he found the problem. The next words out of his mouth made my stomach drop, "you need to be fitted for a cast". diagnosis: major dissociative sprain of radial and ulnar bones; patient needs to be fitted for cast to ensure right positioning of bones to heal; timeline: 6-8 months in cast, no softball.

When I was planning everything for college the idea of going to the doctor, filling out medical history forms, and accepting medication all by myself did not cross my mind. I mean, what 18 year plans out the important stuff? Pinterest boards filled with dorm room decorations or excel sheets with hospitals and doctors within my insurance network? Yeah right! So when I had to go to the ER for the first time by myself... I was a nervous wreck. When the pain set in, I wasn't in my room. I was doing homework with classmates, classmates that I had only known for a short time. The next thing I knew, I was running from one side of the frosh quad to the other, clutching my wrist brace close to my throbbing heart, trying to hide my tears. I went straight into my dorm, ignoring any people in the common room right outside my door. All it took was one look from my roommate, and we were in consensus... I had no choice, I had to go to the ER. The next few hours were chaos. While Scrambling to call my parents in the Bay Area and brace them for the news, I was looking online for what hospitals were nearby and not too expensive. I really don't recommend trying to explain an injury to worrisome parents while you haven't even wrapped your head around the fact that you are indeed injured. Nonetheless, I was miles away from home, miles away from any familiarity or sense of security, and to make it worse I was in excruciating pain. I needed help. The drive to the Er is such a blur. But that's all. Pain doesn't let you forget going through check in, vital checks, x-rays, and yes waiting. Every hour that goes by without an answer is torture. And the only question I had? "Will I be okay to play?" I absolutely hate sitting on the crinkle paper in Dr's offices. Every movement becomes ten times louder, and when I'm nervous or in pain I tend to bounce my leg. I swear every nurse asked me if I was cold and needed a blanket. Nope. I just need an answer. A knock...my leg freezes. In comes a male doctor, a nice gentleman who takes me by hand and says well I've got good news! He puts up the X-rays and says "Nothing is broken". HALLELUJAH was my initial reaction. "Wait, so why does it hurt so much?" He informed me that while nothing was broken, I had severally bruised my ulnar bone in my wrist which was causing inflammation, which of course brings on tendon and muscle irritation. Okay, so basically a bad sprain? The Dr. gave me tramadol, my first bottle of painkillers. "Take one for pain every 4-6 as needed for pain".

Injuries SUCK. It's the brutal truth. So, why is it that instead of believing one's been injured, some choose to be arrogant? As we walked up the hill towards the training room my captain asked how my wrist felt. I responded with "numb and stiff". Her face wrinkled up as she took my wrist into her hand and said "I really hope this doesn't turn into a big wrist issue, trust me those are annoying." She swung open the door and the head PT for softball welcomed me in. I began to introduce myself and explain my reasoning for coming to see him. After minimal inspection he says, "Well, it looks like you just sprained it. We can wrap it up for you, and give you ice, but you need to take one day off from lifting. Come see me tomorrow". Okay, just a sprain, whew thank god. The next morning I woke up and felt my hand throbbing. Time to show the PT how much more swollen, discolored, and weaker my wrist had gotten. His response? Partial clearance and a brace. By the end of the day, my rest from practice was over and my morning routine would start again. The only thing I focused on what that I could return to working out with the team again. I was ecstatic... But it didn't last long. Setting up for each of our workout stations is something that every person on the team must help with, no matter their position or class year. So, having a "minor" injury was not a reason to take it easy. As soon as I went to grab a kettlebell, plate, even a med ball, it was obvious, I was injured. My hand was struggling. Some teammates saw my struggle and voiced that I should take care of myself and go see the PT. So, I did. I made the walk up the hill once again, but this time by myself. Unfortunately, I've had my fair share of injuries in the past, MCL (knee) issues, rotator cuff tendinitis, back tightness, etc... But little did I know that this gave me an advantage. I knew what a good PT should act like. Cautious when treating new injuries, crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's, but most importantly listening to the patient's symptoms.. cause after all YOU know YOUR body best. It was apparent from the start that he was not one of the good ones.... no matter what I voiced concerns over I was wrong and he was right. He went on about how "I had nothing serious to worry about. It was just a minor sprain." I left his office with more questions and concerns than ever. Should I listen to him? Am I overreacting about this discomfort? Do I keep pushing through? I had my answer the night of October 26, 2017, at 8 pm, when the aches became something that I now know all too well... unbearable stabbing pain.

It all started on October 24, 2017, a cold Tuesday morning that felt like the others, my routine as a scholar-athlete. I rolled out of bed and made my way to the boneyard, the outdoor training area for all D3 athletes attending the university. I was a freshman at the U of R getting ready for my first year playing collegiate softball. As we stretched the trainers talked us through the various new workouts we would be doing. We then got split up into groups with veteran players to help guide us. My group started near the ab rollers, where we met up with the head trainer to show us how they should be done. “Okay so you stand holding the wheel down to your toes and engage the core. Wheel up to a downward dog- standing position then all the way flat. Repeat till you complete the set”. I remember getting handed the wheel and feeling nervous about not having the strength to complete it. My captain demonstrated, carefully stretching out her wrists prior to starting, and cautioning me to start slow and steady. Now it was my turn... I was shaky and was able to show off my lame attempt... whew done. “ No no, you gotta wheel all the way, or else you are only cheating yourself” With the trainer standing over my shoulder, I tried again. “Can you help guide me so I don’t fall? I felt super shaky and unstable" I asked. This time he came over and had me get into the starting position. He laughed, nodded, and placed his hand on my back. “Make sure your back is straight and engage your core. Wheel all the way down.” I ended up going all the way down... on the ground. Wrist first, face second, no hands supporting me. I remember thinking, “God, how embarrassing, of course, the freshman fell because she’s not strong enough.. what a joke.” Everyone around me stopped and looked. As I got to my knees the trainer said and did nothing. Maybe he didn't see? Maybe he thought I was a lost cause? I laughed it off grabbing at my wrist, quickly dusting off any dirt, and walked to the next station. My captain followed behind and asked if I was okay I shrugged and said yea yea I’ll be fine. Up next, front squats. I looked down at my wrist and twinged as it popped and creaked as I turned it, slyly examining it. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel right. I walked up to the bar and placed my wrists underneath to lift.... failure. My hand had given out and was shaking. My captain catches the bar. She takes one look at my wrist and says “oh shit did this just happen when you fell?!” I nodded and shook out my purple wrist like no big deal. ”That really doesn't look good, we gotta tell coach now and go to the trainers”. The words no athlete wants to hear.

Hi everyone! Welcome to the Chronical.. My name is Jaz and I've been living with chronic pain for the past four years. As a younger person suffering through the everyday struggle of pushing through, I found myself searching for support. More specifically, a community or peer that I felt I could relate to and feel understood. However, my search came up with older people with severe chronic illnesses, not someone dealing with chronic pain. Now, I want to be very clear, both are exhausting and the fights are admirable, but with every disability or illness the stories and experiences are unique. I didn't find the "niche" of chronic pain blogs or videos made by younger generations. My hope is to create the space of support, laughs and advice that I have needed during my ongoing recovery. So, here I am, sharing the good, the gross, and the bad.

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