Going to the Neurologist.

        Last you were here I was taking my shirt off... for the doctor that is.  After he checked my breathing he asked me about my chest.  (Now those of you that saw the previous page can see that I used to have pectoral muscles.  Not any more...)

I am flexing my chest as hard as I can in this pic. notice the divot?

I guess because of the amount of time that had passed from high school to now, I hadn't really noticed the change, and had adapted to the weakness in my chest and back.  After explaining some of this to him, he mentioned that I possibly could have a pinched nerve or other factors that are causing the muscle wasting.  I still didn't think too much of it, I had been dealing with pain, weakness, and stiffness for a lot of years.  He recommended a neurologist and I made an appointment.  The appointment wasn't for 5 months because of the waiting list.  I put it in the back of my mind because it was so far off.  This was in November of 2013.

          One day in the end of December I received a call from the Neurologist office saying that they had a cancellation and could I be to their office at 9am in two days.  Wow! I couldn't believe my chances!  I thought for sure I would have to wait the full 5 months.  After 15 years of questions maybe I would get a few answers. 

          I was so nervous for the appointment!  This one hour of my life coming up could change me!  I just knew that I had nerve damage, or a very fixable treatable condition.  I was dreaming of going to the gym again, and this time my chest would bulk up like every other guy with my type of frame.  I was mentally absent while the nurse ran the normal battery of tests. Blood pressure, temp, weight,and height. The nurse left me assuring me that the doctor would be in shortly.  It seemed like 45 min but was probably 10 when the doctor waltzed in with his nose in papers.  He was my height, maybe a little lighter than me.  The doctor had salt and pepper hair combed professionally to the side, he gazed up as if looking beyond bifocals, still keeping the papers in view.  "Hi, Im Dr. Carlson, what can I do for you today?"  This is the moment... "Well let me take my shirt off and show you."  I replied worried but with purpose, and began to take off my shirt.... again.  (I normally don't strip so much just in-case you're wondering.)  He looked, poked, prodded, zapped, and googled (yes my doctor used Google to do some research) for quite awhile before he told me that ,without testing, he is pretty sure that I have facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy.... What in the world does that mean?