Needles and Shock

Know what's fun?

Yes? No? Maybe?

I can tell you what is not fun. And it happened to me earlier this week in a doctor's office. But first, I need to give you a bit of background story.

You see, since October, I've had this pain in both of my arms. I wouldn't describe it as a sharp pain. More like a dull ache that runs from my elbows to my forearms. The pain increases when I lift something or when I straighten my arms. You're most likely thinking the same thing I thought for awhile. Tennis elbow. And that's what my orthopedist said at first. He gave me some anti-inflammatory/pain medication and a set of instructions which explained how to do these arm exercises that would help heal my arms.

Neither worked. For several months, I used the medication, tried the exercises and put heating pads and cold packs on my arms. All of which offered small comfort.

So I go back to the orthopedist. He tells me I may have damaged nerves in my arms that may be the problem. He tells me that I need to see a certain neurologist. I tell him that's fine. I just want to get this resolved. I have enough health problems as it is with my diabetes, high blood pressure, heel spurs, chronic sinusitis and- well, let's put it this way- I need a new body. If anybody out there knows where I can pick one up, drop me a line.

Earlier this week, my wife and I went to Dr. Biddiqui's (not his real name) office for the appointment, regarding my arms. Biddiqui is a neurologist, around fifty years old and Indian, in descent. The only reason I mention he is Indian is because of his heavy accent. He's hard to understand. Granted, I'm deaf in one ear (another body part I need replacing) but his accent was so damn thick, even my wife could hardly understand him. And my wife can hear an ant fart.

After signing in, the nurse soon calls out my name and we're taken back to the patient waiting room. While we sit in the room, waiting for the doctor, the nurse comes in. She asks why I'm there. I tell her it's for an examination for my arms. The nurse glances down at her clipboard, then gives me a puzzled look. She asks, "You mean you don't know that you are here for an EMG and a NVC?" I inquired, "A what and a what?" Obviously annoyed, she hurriedly explains what the abbreviations stand for. When she tells me, it still doesn't help. But since I've been suffering with this situation for far too long, I agree to do go on with the show. The nurse tells me to take off my shirt and lay down on the table.

The fun begins when Dr. Biddiqui enters the room, mumbles something incomprehensible and slowly strokes my arms and my hands. If I were someplace else, I'd think he was trying to put some moves on me. Then I'd punch him in the mouth. Anyway, noticing I haven't understood a word he's said, he repeats his question a couple more times. With my wife's assistance, I finally understand that he is asking if I can feel it when he touches me in this area or another. So I go on to tell him, in regards to the parts of my arms and hands he is touching, what I feel.

Then he tells me to relax as he brings over the testing machinery. I can discern that electricity will be involved in this examination. When he places the electrodes on my arms and hands, my sphincter tightens. He says, "You will relax now." I close my eyes. A lightning bolt suddenly hits at one point in my arm. I give a little yelp. With a racing heart, I shout, "Wow!" He nods his head, studying his analysis monitor on the side. "It will be okay", he mutters, "Just relax." More shocks to my arm continue. Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap. At least nine or ten electrocutions are generously zapped along my arm and hand, one at a time. I arch my back and shudder with each zap, letting out an "Uhhhhnnn" noise. Of course, each time, the good doctor advises me to relax while I, at different moments, wonder if I've shit my pants a tiny bit.

After pulling the electrodes off my arm and hand, Dr. Biddiqui says, "Now we're done with the shocking." A sense of relief washes over me. The neurologist instructs me to lay on my side towards the wall. "Lie still," he orders. I waited for what was to come in gleeful anticipation. Yeah, right. A few anguish-free moments pass. Then, one at a time, he pushes needles directly into the muscles of my arm. With each poke and push, he turns to study the graph and spikes on his monitor. I let out a squeal each time he pushes down on the needles. By this time, my wife looks around the corner to get a better angle of the show. At least, that what she told me later. Personally, I think she might have been covering her eyes with her hands the whole time.

Dr. Biddiqui asked how I was doing at one point. I answered, "Good times." Then I thought I had better rephrase that. I stated, "I'm doing alright." I didn't want him to believe I was enjoying myself. He might have tried ramming a letter opener into my eye.

When both procedures were over, I almost fell off the table while getting down. Most likely due to the exhaustion and pain experienced from the hour long examination. Thankfully, my wife was there to drive my sorry ass home. Before leaving, I asked the doctor what he found out. He told me he couldn't tell me. Biddiqui said he had to send the report of his findings to my orthopedic doctor because he was the one who ordered the procedures. He continued to explain that the orthopedic doctor would go over the results with me. I would have argued with this logic but I was too tired and sore. I just wanted to go home, go to bed and not dream of being a human pin cushion.

Click http://millercenter.uchicago.edu/learnaboutpn/evaluation/neuroexam/index.shtmlf for a brief summary of the diagnostic tests (torture) I endured.