DEEP TISSUE/DEEP THOUGHTS

Rotator Cuff, how does 4 muscles cause so much pain?

2011-04-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

This is why I am a Massage Therapist

2010-07-25T14:30:00.000-07:00

This was my first full week back to work and seeing my clients,working on my clients was like taking a huge breath of fresh clean air. 6 weeks was a long time to not have my hands on someone. I fell right back in, no problems. I guess I was worried that for some reason I would have to "learn to ride the bike" all over again, but nope, natural as well breathing.

All week each client greeted me with excitement and gratefulness, they were as eager to see me as I was to see them, but one lady, her exuberance really was over the top. But it made remember me why I chose this career...

I was changing the sheets on my table when my next client entered the office. Elated she came through door separating the waiting room from the office space and treatment rooms, almost screeching, "I am soooooo GLAD TO SEE YOU!!!" I turned around to see her rounding the privacy wall, rushing at me; arms wide open, "Can I give you a hug?" "Well of course." I replied, slightly taken aback at this woman's enthusiasm. Her arms wrapped snug around my shoulders she squeezed and patted my back. "You changed my life." Slightly whispering it, with almost a quiver in her voice as though she were about to cry.

This client, we'll call her Betty, came to me about 5 weeks prior to my injury with a referral from a chiropractor friend of mine. She had such hip pain that she could hardly climb the stairs in my office. She had been living this way for three years and was fearing she would need a hip replacement surgery. Her quality of life had diminished almost completely, mind you she is only in her 50's and with a vibrant personality and right now she can barely walk. She had no health insurance and was absolutely desperate for someone to help.

Over the course of the next 5 weeks I worked 100% on her hips, we did TiggerPoint, myofascial release, range of motion, stretching, muscle stripping and various other techniques I had in my little bag of tricks. She noticed good results after the first treatment, but we had a ways to go. After tests and assesments, I agreed with Dr. Anderson and her problems were not likely joint dysfunction, but muscular. Her treatment plan was based on two components, financial ability of the client to pay and necessity. In order to make a difference we needed to space the treatments close enough together to achieve progress. We were seeing good results and Betty was feeling better than she had in years. Just before my untimely "leave of absence" Betty began to get very upset with herself that she had waited three years to seek help. I explained to her that we can't go back in time and fix what we didn't do, but we can move forward to fix the problem now and that mental and emotional state work very closely with physical healing Letting go of emotional trauma is essential to healing, and holding onto guilt is devastating on the physical body. We began working through some of her emotional injuries during her sessions as well, (a small perk to being a massage therapist is that we get to be an emotional therapist as well). After her 5th treatment we had made a lot of progress, she was now climbing my stairs with little pain and her over all posture was improved 70%. I will admit I was having a lot of fun watching the therapy work. She worked very hard on her self care during the week and her progress showed. I did become very worried for her and wondered how much her condition would decline during the absence of the treatments for 6 weeks.

She broke her hold on me and moved far enough away that I could take a good look at her now. She looked fantastic! She was dressed in a cute black capri exercise outfit with a baseball cap, she had obviously lost some weight and her face was beaming with a smile from ear to ear. She held her hands out and did a little turn as if to show off just a smidgen. "I went dancing!" She exclaimed, hugged me again and said, "I couldn't have done it with out you. You gave me back my quality of life." I couldn't help but get caught up in her elation as well, I was at that moment as proud of myself as I was of her.

And that my friends is why I do what I do. It's not for the glitz and glamor. It's not for a big paycheck or a star on the walk of fame. It's to help people live there lives to highest quality as possible.

We are only given but this one body, it can only take care of you as good as you take care of it. Fill it with good natural healthy food and water, exercise it, stretch it and give it a great massage therapist. Tell your body thank you for working so hard to provide you with all the things you have and want.

Learning to be a good client

2010-07-17T07:22:00.000-07:00

Some of us wonder through life with little more than a few scratches, but for those who live with pain and injury seek out practitioners to make it better. As a therapist, my personal mission to give each and every one of my clients the quality of life I can. I've educated myself with classes and books, I practice my techniques daily, constantly sharpening my palpation skills. I am awesome and I know it. Did I just say "I'm Awesome?" Yes I did, here is where my lesson begins. You see there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and I do believe I crossed that line a time or two. It's not difficult to let things go to your head when clients are constantly patting you on the back and raising that pedestal. And let me tell you the fall off that pedestal is fast and furious.

Falling down a flight of stairs and breaking your ankle is one humbling experience. I got to be the patient and a client. Instead of me barking the orders and the homework, I was now taking them. I tried being the best patient I could, outwardly I was accommodating and polite, but inside I was criticizing everything everyone did, from the nurse to the x-ray tech and all the doctors in between. They were talking to me like I had no clue about anything, I mean didn't they know who I was? Nope they didn't. I was just like any other Joe Schmo who walked through their doors needing help. They had a job to do and they were going to do the best they could, even though I didn't see it that way.

Well despite my attitude I made it all the way through my traumatic ordeal, broken bone, surgery, recovery and onto rehab. I knew I had a point to prove to all those people who had no idea who I was or what massage was all about, I was going to heal faster than anyone they had ever seen. Oh yes I did it again, leaping right over that line into arrogance. I was impatient and head strong. I needed to get back to work and nothing, not even nature was going to stop me from defying the odds. Except it did. One month after my surgery to set and install hardware (a 3 inch titanium plate and 6 titanium screws) in my fibula, I returned to work. My clients were thrilled, hell I was thrilled, but I was not being a good patient, client or therapist, I was more interested now in the "wow factor" than being a good anything. I wowed my Physical Therapist on our first session, my muscle strength and range of motion were better than anyone he had ever seen, but he continuously reminded me that were still dealing with a broken bone and severely torn ligaments and not to push them too hard. I didn't even take his advice, I pushed through two days of work, I didn't ice appropriately, I didn't rest appropriately and I certainly didn't let on to anyone that I was in a great deal of pain. As a consequence of my actions, my incision split open around my lateral maleoli (outside ankle bone) and I got an ulcerated sore on it. Inflamed and infected, I now had to admit I am only human; not a Super Hero that can conquer the universe one massage at a time. My kryptonite is like all other humans, the science of the human anatomy does not change, we must be patient in our healing process.

Long story short, I was humbled this week by lack of being a good a client. I should have listened to my doctor, PT and my massage therapist, who also told me to slow down. As therapists, we tend to forget about ourselves and only focus on our clients being the clients, but we need to stop and take a step back every now and again and really try to walk in their shoes. Today's lesson has to been, to be a client, feel their pain, know their impatience and desire to heal as quickly as possible is as great as your own. Embrace your own injuries and faults, know you are human, but never lose sight of your empathy and compassion. Cause when you do, life will surely knock you down a flight of stairs and humble you in less than a second.

The Aftermath

2010-06-17T10:15:00.000-07:00

(Please note that all professionals names have changed for their protection and mine)

With the alarm set for 2 hours, drugged and exhausted, Tom assisted me into bed and off to sleep I went. Every two hours I was awoken by the insane buzz of the clock and Tom handing me a pill and my water. Being doped up, in pain and in and out of consciousness; Monday and Tuesday are a fuzzy blur. I do recall Tom telling me that our followup was going to be with Dr. Victors and I had a fit. I'm not saying he is not an outstanding surgeon, I'm just saying it's been my personal experience that his personality is equally comparable to the Grinche. The soonest he could see me was Thursday, I not only didn't want to see him but was also afraid I would run out of pain meds by Thursday (I was still in quite a bit of pain by this point) Tom started calling around McMinnville to see if someone could fit us in sooner. He was told that the "on call" program set up strictly restricts them seeing ER patients not on their rounds, but one doctor was more than happy to write a prescription for more pain meds.
Thursday morning rolled around and I was headed in to see Dr. Victors. My pain levels had been leveling out and I had decreased my pain meds, so I hadn't yet dipped into the new prescription. We checked in at the front desk, it was very busy and no available seats so one of the ladies on the staff (who just happened to be my Mother's first cousin" set me up in their staff room. That was the nicest thing that happened at this particular office, at all. We waited 2 hours to be seen, we were took to a room, my vitals were taken and then we were left alone to wait again. I'm not sure how long the wait was there before the doctor came in, no one had taken off the splint from the ER yet, so he left to find a medical assistant (MA) to remove it. After that wait they decided to put an air cast on and take 3 more x-rays. Back in the room the waiting continued for about another 10 minutes or so before the MA brought in the films and put them on the viewing board. Dr. Victors wasn't far behind this time, bursting through the door in his freshly pressed yellow button up shirt and dapper pleated gray slacks, walked straight to the films and turned around, grabbed a pen looking thing out of his shirt pocket, placed it on the ball of my foot and asked me to press my foot into it. Then he proceeded to the top, inside and outside of my foot. I felt very strange that he wouldn't even touch me. But that wasn't the worst of it. After he put the utensil back in his shirt (which I thought was a bit of an oxymoron, considering he wouldn't touch me with his hands, but would put an unsanitary utensil back in his pocket) he sat on his stool and opened my file. "I don't mean to be the narcotics police, but I'd like to know why you got another prescription for pain meds....." he grilled us about the reason why we filled another prescription so soon. We tried to explain what the discharge nurse had told us about how to take the pills and worrying about running out before we could get into see him, but he continuously cut us off mid sentence and was very accusatory. I finally told him that I don't smoke, I don't drink alcohol or caffeine (what I meant was soda, cause I do drink coffee) and that I wouldn't even begin to know where or how to have a drug addiction. After a nasty lecture about how this looked he finally got to my condition. He was so tart and matter of fact, "you need surgery to fix this break, it's the best route to take!" I tried to ask about prognosis, Tom asked about cost and alternatives to surgery, but he just barked SURGERY, SURGERY, SURGERY. We signed the papers, scheduled the surgery on our way out of the office, feeling like we were just going through the motions and just got slammed into an over priced car we didn't want by a sleazy salesman.

Finally in the car, it was almost 2:00 PM, I felt so discouraged, frustrated, limited and hungry. My emotions were all running so ramped that the last thing I needed was Tom barking at me now. But is precisely what I was getting, "I can't believe you just..." and "You know we can't afford...". My head was spinning with thoughts of it's own right now, mostly around all the things I had done very wrong up to this point and all of the things that were now in jeopardy. Being the sole provider of income in our family working sometime 50 hours a week at our massage clinic. Questions filled my head so fast, faster than I could even process, trying to figure out what I would do with my clients, how much business would we lose, would my other therapists make enough over the next 6-8 weeks to pay the bills. Everything began to spin as I looked outside the window and back at Tom, his lips were moving and I hear the sound of his voice, but it was getting jumbled up with my own thoughts. Trying to put my thoughts in their appropriate spot for sorting, I began to cry. Tom stopped talking and just pulled out of the parking lot. I tried to talk and justify my actions of signing up for the surgery, but my rationalizations weren't making any sense to me, let alone Tom. We both knew we were hungry and headed to a local restaurant for a late lunch. Maybe with our blood sugars more evened out and a little time we could clear our heads a bit to talk.

Cheese burgers and fries later we went to the office to make some calls. The one thing we could agree on was that neither of us liked Dr. Victors and we needed a second opinion. I called my mother-in-law, Mary to let her know what had been going on and she suggested to call Oregon Health and Sciences University (OHSU), she remembered one of her grandchildren getting a surgery there and they charged on a sliding scale. Finally a ray of hope, a direction to go in that didn't seem like such a mountain. You can start laughing now, cause nothing, absolutely nothing is easy. After 4 phone calls, 3 transfers and 4 different stories the only thing I was sure of was that I had to wait to get paperwork in the mail; that could take up to 2 weeks to arrive, fill it out, send it in and wait for an approval. I literally felt like I was going to lose it at this point, I was exhausted, even more frustrated and wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and throw a tantrum. Tom insisted I go lay down on one of the massage tables in an empty room and he would take care of every thing. And he did. He found a place in Salem that could see me the very next day. This was music to my ears, it would only cost us $200 for a second opinion and Tom was very pleased with the level of customer service he received. Now I could focus all my thoughts on coulda, shoulda, woulda's and how in God's name were we going to make all this work.
Friday morning rolled around and off we went to Salem to meet Dr. Johns, the man who would change my opinion of surgeons, most definately in a good way. When we first walked into the orthopedic clinic I felt at ease, everyone; even the patients were all calm and friendly, unlike the chaotic and gruff experience from the day before. We were promptly called back to the exam room, the nurse was so nice, which at this point was in her best interest. She asked us the same questions we had already answered a thousand times before, took the DVD of the x-rays taken at the ER and loaded them onto the computer. We didn't wait very long when a VERY tall, skinny oger of a man walked in. He seemed to be in his 60's with gray hair. He introduced himself, shook our hands and took a look at the pictures on the monitor. He explained the fractures as he skipped back and forth between screens until he lost all but 1 of the pictures. He laughed a little and made fun of himself and technology challenges. He then did something that Dr. Victors didn't do, he removed my air splint and touched my foot, YES he TOUCHED my foot, palpating and examining and asking questions. I inquisitively watched him probing, listening to every word that rolled off his tongue as not miss a single syllable. He talked about the fracture and the ligament damage to my Deltoid Ligaments on the medial side of my foot, how my metatarsal bone, Talus, had dislocated and moved medially (to the inside of my foot) and that it would take several months to a year for those to ligaments to heal. Tom didn't miss a beat asking for alternatives to surgery, Dr. Johns was eager to comply, explaining a lengthy casting process they may still result in surgery. He explained he understood the urgency for me to get back to work as well as the cost, his advice for the best and fasted results were to fix it right the first time. He left Tom and I alone to discuss our decision... Surgery it would be. We felt as good as we could about this decision as we could and scheduled the procedure for the following Thursday.

We now had so many things to do in preparation of a surgery; we had our son, the clinic, my clients, our home and animals to take care of. We had to plan for weeks of me being incapacitated. Thank goodness Tom and my sister were able to keep the clinic running, clearing my schedule, moving clients and all the other very important aspects of operating a massage clinic. The next several weeks would prove to be some of the most challenging weeks that my family, staff and I have ever faced...

Chapter 2: Surviving the ER

2010-06-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

Tom pulled into emergency drop off area at the ER, ran into the waiting room and grabbed a wheelchair. Waiting in the car I couldn’t help but notice the people waiting around the doors, sad, crying and consoling each other. I couldn’t help but get caught up in their moment wondering what their tragedy was. I vaguely recall what Jeffery was doing in the back seat up to this point, I know he asked how I was, he was genuinely concerned about his Mommy, but the questions he asked or any statements he may have made have erased themselves from my memory. I don’t really remember getting into the wheel chair, I do, however, remember being wheeled passed the group of grieving people, so slowly, their sobs echoing in my ear as I moved passed them until they were gone. The pain in my leg was so overwhelming by this time; all I could concentrate on was breathing through it and not throwing up. I was sweating and shaking. Tom was going over all the necessities with the guy in admitting and I was trying to focus on what he was saying, but only processing what was being said in each little moment and out the window it would go. Jeffery just kept asking, “Mommy are you ok, can I help you?” Rat-a-tap-tap, rat-a-tap-tap, I was desperately trying to find a beat with my fingers on the arm of the wheel chair, my left foot and calf consumed with a fire and achiness, so deep and overwhelming, it stole every ounce of my concentration. However, I do remember that ridiculous pain scale question that everyone hates, being asked by the admitting guy, “On scale from 1 to-“ “A TEN!” I cut him off at the pass, absolutely irritated that he couldn’t observe and make an educated decision on his own. I remember thinking, “How fucking oblivious can a person be?” Now mind you, I realize it is not his job to rate my pain, but in that very moment I could have cared less what was in his job description, I just wanted him to not be a drone and use some common sense. A moment later Tom was finished and was asked to wheel me over to the waiting area and assured someone would be with us as soon as possible. I remember there was a TV and couple other people sitting around, but the waiting area was mostly quiet. Tom took Jeffery outside, made a couple phone calls, parked the car and let the dogs out to go to the bathroom, I have no idea how much time had passed by now, for every minute wasoverflowing with the pain and hundreds of scattered thoughts throughout brain. “If I can’t work how are we going to pay our bills? How are we going to pay for this or that? What a stupid, stupid thing to due. Tom is going to be so upset with me.”

“Stephanie Jensen.” A quiet voice came from the back of the waiting room; it was a nurse. I looked around to see if Tom had come back when my wheelchair started to move, he had indeed come back and we were headed into a room. “It’s about time” is all I thought. Once back into room I was bombarded by the same questions we had just answered a few minutes earlier, “Good grief do people not talk to each other around here, or not read chart notes? For crying out loud?” Tom leaned down and said “Just answer the questions, she was only trying to do her job.” OOPS, I had used my outside voice. I tried very hard to accommodate answering questions; anxiously awaiting the doctor’s arrival. I figured I would be getting a shot of morphine for the pain any minute, but nothing was ever offered. Five minutes turned into 30 minutes as I watched the clock and the nurse come in and out to check my blood pressure and nothing, I mean I was in obvious pain here and no indication of pain relief was in sight. During all of this Jeffery was watching Hannah Montana on the TV and schooling Tom on her double personality. I laughed a few times at my two boys trying to make the best of a very difficult situation.

It was about 8:30 P.M. when Tom and Jeffery were asked to leave the room; the x-ray tech was wheeling in the x-ray machine to take films of my ankle. She was an attractive 40ish woman with blonde a braided pony tail and I think a German accent. She was so kind and tried so hard to be gentle when positioning my foot for the three films she needed. I tried as well to be a really good cooperative patient, but I uncontrollably cried and cried and cried. I apologized for crying, but couldn’t seem to stop no matter hard I tried, the tears just kept a comin’. She finished, opologized several times in her sweet accent, then excused herself. I tried to reassure her that I wasn’t upset; she did a great job and I appreciated her kindness. She left mumbling some words to Tom and the nurse that I could not understand. I could however here Jefffery, “What’s that machine do? What were you doin’? You wanna hear a joke?” That’s my kid, always the comedian!

I finally asked the nurse if I could please have some pain meds, mind you, I had been at the ER now over an hour. Her response? “The doctor is very busy tonight, I can’t give you anything until he comes in to see you.” By now I was wishing that I had just given in and listened to Tom when he first suggested we go Providence in Newberg. Another half an hour goes by before the nurse finally came in with a shot of morphine. The x-ray tech, bless her heart, had refused to take the additional films of my ankle that the doctor wanted until someone gave me pain meds. I still hadn’t seen a doctor yet, but I didn’t care, I was going to feel better in a moment.

With drugs in my system and my sister on her way to get Jeffery and the dogs, the world was beginning to be a better place. My really nice nurse was going off duty and switched places with a very cynical nurse who looked as though she had just spent the last 3 hours sucking on lemons. Finally DR. wha wha wha came in where I heard blah, blah, blah. A little while goes by and I’ll be damned if the nurse versions of Cali and Little Grey (doctors on Grey’s Anatomy) walked in discussing their love triangle with some guy that they or she broke up with got switched to the night shift, yada yada yada. THESE were the girls that were going to put my splint/cast on my leg, sourpuss and love gone wrong. Could this night get any worse? Temp Mr. Murphy and his law, see what you get. I tried my best to be as appropriate and accommodating as possible while Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb wrestled with my leg like it was fumbled football. Breathing and holding back the tears, I heard one of them bark orders to Tom to get into some drawer and grab whatever, “NO NOT THAT ONE, THE OTHER ONE.” They snapped at him, as if he had been working there for years and was disgusted at his incompetence. "Thud" went my leg onto the bed, we were finished. Finally, after hours of being in the middle of a prime time drama series, we were able to leave. Exhausted and embarrassed I crawled into the wheel chair where the discharge nurse came and began to explain what we would be doing next. Now pay close attention here, cause it is relevant in the next chapter. Our nurse handed us a bottle of Vicoden and a prescription for Percocet to be filled on Monday or Tuesday. He told us to call Dr. Roe’s office on Tuesday and schedule an appointment for the follow up concerning the fractures that Dr. Wah Wah had found on the x-rays. He advised that I "set my alarm and a take 1 Percocet every two hours to stay on top of the pain," wheeled us out to our car, helped me into the back seat of the Expedition, closed the door and we were on our way home...

The Big Break...

2010-06-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

This is my story; I will take you through my personal journey, as I live it. The nightmares that all massage therapists have, that accident that leaves us unable to work. I will take you all through the ups and downs, the laughter, tears and triumphs. I must warn you that some of the content I write may not be of the most professional nature, but when we go through painful moments, personal breakdowns and literally a fight for your life as you know it, politically correct is not always the first thing that runs through one's mind. So please enjoy the stories I write, funny, sad, empowering, whatever they evolve to.

It started out a nice Sunday morning, enjoying the company of my Mom and my son, Jeffery. We walked our way down Old Railroad Road toward the ferry, where we had decided to walk onto the ferry and take an inexpensive adventure across the Columbia River to Puget Island, between Oregon and Washington. It was over cast and slightly chilly, but this is Oregon people, at least it wasn't raining (yet). One hour, $4 and about 50 iPhone pics later we walked back to my parent’s house. My husband, Tom, was getting antsy to head home, we still had so many things to do at home and only one more day of Memorial Day weekend to finish it all. The trip home from West Port was typical, 2 dogs, Jeffery, Tom and myself filling up our 2003 Ford Expedition. We stopped at Red Robin for dinner, where I should have figured out that our night was about to take a turn for the worst when our cute little teeny bopper waiter, "like oops forgot to enter your meal." So we waited what seemed like forever to get our food that the Manager delivered, appropriately apologizing and offering us a free desert that we never received. Fast forward to us deciding it was a good idea to stop by my clinic to pick up my MacBook to take home, I still can't remember the reason why we needed, guess it wasn't that important after all.

Now here is where it all goes down…well, the stairs! I left Tom and Jeffery in the car as I headed into my clinic for what was suppose to be a quick stop to grab my laptop. After a swift stop in the potty, I grabbed my MacBook and dropped it into a beautiful and chic GIGI carrying bag, hurriedly stuffed the power cord in another pocket and fluttered out the door. I stopped briefly to take a look around and decided to flip on the switch to a light, hoping to encourage people driving past the beautiful brick building to look up curiously and see our little sign in the window. I am always marketing my practice! Flip goes the switch, "honk honk" outside; "POP, POP, POP" goes my left ankle. Next thing I remember, ”What the hell just happened?" ran through my mind as I realized I had fallen all the way down the first flight of stairs. I pushed my self up with my hands, pulled my left leg forward, lifting my foot off the landing that broke my fall. At that moment this sensation relayed to my brain that felt like my foot had slid medially off my Tibia (to the inside off the large bone in chin) and that is when the fire hit. It happened so fast, HOT pulsing fire inside my ankle radiating up my leg to my knee like a matchstick, instant nausea and silence as my mind tried to wrap around the significance of the injury that had just occurred. I slopped back down to the floor, fighting back the urge to both cry and vomit. I knew at this point my ankle was hurt badly enough I was NOT going to make it down the second small flight of stairs and out two doors to get to Tom. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, knowing that Tom would eventually come looking for me, when in I realized that was NEVER going to happen. The outside door to the building was locked and I had the only key, on me. I felt like I was in a really bad movie as I gazed down the stairs at the windowed doors, seeing the passenger side of my gray Expedition, everything began to distort - first rushing at me, almost close enough to touch then they rushed out and seem light years away. I looked at the railings attached to both sides of the stair well, I began to strategically plan my descent of the stairs, knowing if I could make it just far enough to push the bar on the outside door a sufficient amount to unlock it, my knight in shining armor would rush in and save his maiden - whisking her away to the ER. Taking a couple deep breathes and saying my affirmations "You can do this Stephanie, YOU can DO this” I grabbed the railings, used my arms and right leg to get up off the floor and began my journey down the stairs, one grueling hop at a time. Clammy and ready regurgitate all of my Whiskey River Burger; I made it to the first door. "Damn girl, your almost there!" I reassured myself, swallowing back the pressure in my throat. I had never noticed how heavy the door was, until this very moment, "HEEEWHOOOO, HEEEEWHOOOO" I pulled the door open and hobbled my way out the door, hugging the wall, grabbing onto anything to help me maintain my balance, only a few more feet to go. I waved my hands to get Tom's attention, thank the Lord he saw me and came running.

“WHAT THE HELL’D YOU DO?” were the words uttered from my hero’s mouth as he opened the door and grabbed me. Just in time too, I was sweating like, well… I don’t know but it was gross and felt everything slowly turning gray; I didn’t have much energy left. “I think I really hurt myself this time.” (Yes I fall all the time! I am not a ballerina, fluttering around with abounding grace.) Tom helped me to the car, weary and embarrassed. He had to help me UP into my seat, in what seemed to me at the time, the climb to the top of Mt. Hood. Then the next words he uttered made my heart fall into the pit of my already queasy stomach: not because I don’t like doctors, but because we have no insurance… “Do we need to go to the hospital?”… Those words seem to come through my ears like I was submerged under water, an echo I struggled to understand. Without even processing what the ramifications of what just happened will be, filled to the brim with pain only comparable to the heights of full on labor pains, I broke. Through my sobbing and sniffling, all I could say was, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tom, not missing a beat, pulled the sock off of my foot and made the decision for me, we were off to the finest in emergency health care (note the sarcasm please) Willamette Valley Medical Center…