I had to cut my squat workout short to get to my dental cleaning today, on account of the pollen has been so wretched that it took me till after noon to feel able to face the rack, so it sort of worked out that when I got there the elevator was busted and I had to chug up six floors.
They have this new hygienist, the one who replaced the short-lived Fullback Mary, the chainsaw murderer of hygienists. Lita is nice. She actually talks in a normal tone of voice as if you are an intelligent human being and not a small half-wit, and her touch with the power scaler could be a little lighter but I can deal with it. About half way through she jerked her hand back as if she’d been shocked and worked her fingers, and said “Sorry, I pulled something. That happened before.”
“Lemme see,” I said. “I fix stuff like this all day long.” When I explained what I do for a living she stripped off her rubber glove and let me dig around her extensor muscles, stretch her carpal zone and drill down to the interossei between the metacarpal bones. “See if that feels a little different,” I said.
“It does!” she said happily.
“Glad to help,” I said. “I fixed my chiropractor’s table with a Swiss knife once too so he could finish adjusting me.” (True story.)
She finished sand-blasting three months of Darjeeling stain off my teeth and went to get the dentist — actually he’s a periodontist, who did a porcine growth hormone bone graft on my last mandibular molar (#18, if you care) about fourteen years ago, but that is yet another story, told elsewhere.
“He’ll be in in a few minutes,” she said when she looked back in. “And he wants you to look at his shoulder.”
I am sure he was inspecting my gums and so on but I mainly remember him telling me he had this recurring pain and got dry needling and one good massage and some physical therapy, impingement, bursitis und so weiter, also there is bursitis in both hips, golf swing, worked out this morning and it’s really yelling at him.
I stood up when he was done and seized his shoulder. There is a spot on the back of the shoulder blade where the shallow rotator muscle there (the infraspinatus) likes to concentrate all its bile and venom. I think I got his feet off the ground. There was a nasty hot zone in his medial deltoid and, where I am sure he never thought to really dig himself, the usual horror show under the shoulder blade, where you have to slide it into excursion along the ribs to even get at the subscapularis muscle.
By now a large part of the office staff had assembled in the treatment room door, squeezing and jostling for a better view, and the hygienist was holding up her smartphone to get video of the entire occurrence. “Look at that expression!” said the receptionist. “They’ve all been good,” said the scheduling lady. I showed Herr Doktor how to lean forward from a seated position and use his thumb to drill up into the recreant muscle, then pointed out where it attached at the front of the shoulder and mentioned that it usually colludes with the upper chest muscles that cross the thoracic outlet. “Some people don’t have a subclavius, but you probably do,” I said, digging into it. “Holy crap!” he yelled. This was impressive as this guy usually displays such a cool demeanor that you could keep canapes fresh on his forehead.
“Gimme your card,” he said. “I gotta start seeing someone who knows what they’re doing.” As he went out the door, as an afterthought, he remarked “Your mouth looks great by the way.”
I don’t know how this all reflected on the person who gave him the other massage or the PT and so on. Anyway I dropped a fan of my cards at the desk on the way out.
The receptionist promised she’d send the video.