A Frightening Twinge

I've provided fairly thorough documentation of the mental intricacies of Tommy John recovery throughout the entire time I've been keeping this blog. The emotional turmoil with which a yearlong recovery is associated with is no small task; it comes with immeasurable tasks obstacles that cannot be prepared for. Nonetheless, much of the documentation that I have provided during these past few months has been documentation of aspects that occur in everyday recovery- that is- recovery that doesn't have any setbacks involved. I have been incredibly fortunate to have the care of arguable the best orthopedic surgeon on the face of the earth in the finest sports medicine facilities ever built. I have been fortunate enough to have a diligent staff both at college and at home that have been willing and able to assist me in progressing to the point I find myself at today. And as a result, my recovery has been smooth. I am right on schedule, right where I'm supposed to be at this point in the timeline.

At least I was until this past Wednesday.

152 days after I underwent Tommy John Surgery, on December 14, I stood in the arena at my school and wound up to throw the ball to the head trainer who was standing 60 feet away from me. I was pretty tired, struggling through an augmented sleep pattern due to the looming final exams that were upon me in every class I was taking for the semester. The significance of December 14, which is normally solely dedicated to my father's birthday, will now be slightly altered to a memory of something else.

As I released my 34th throw of the morning (the ninth throw in the second set of 25, for those familiar with the throwing program), I felt pain. It wasn't pain in my UCL or the region around it, it was pain on the outer part of my elbow. I paused for a second and explained to the best of my ability what I had felt.

"You know how you get those little air bubbles and someone pulls your finger and it pops? That's what my arm feels like," I exclaimed to the trainer. After some examination I said that the inside of the elbow didn't hurt and I think I'd be OK to continue throwing. I cautiously returned to my spot and wound up to throw another ball.

No pain.

Thinking to myself that I must have had some sort of odd fleeting paranoia, I shook it off and continued to throw. Two more releases, two more painless occurrences. Then, then 38th throw of the morning showed its face. I wound up, and delivered.

Pain. In the same spot. Once again.

I repeated my concern to the trainer, who repeated the tests on the area. My UCL was fine, my stability and range of motion were great. I assured myself and the trainer that I was alright to continue throwing, and stepped back in place.

I nervously went through the remaining six throws, never feeling more pain or pain in a different spot. Every instance that some sort of sensitivity arose in the region, I cringed. But, it never got any worse.

I went into the weight room and worked through the dictated exercises that I was due to complete on that day with ease and a rather exaggerated haste. I went back down to the training room and requested not only the typical ice/stim/ultrasound treatment, but also a rubdown of the arm. I wanted to see if there was possibly a reason that could be pinpointed for the uncomfortable sensations I was feeling.

For several minutes, the trainer's hands moved up and down my arm without even the slightest inkling of a justification. I lay on the training bed dripping sweat, anxiously observing the makeshift massage I was receiving. Post-throwing is normally a relaxing time when I lay back, ice the arm and converse with the other athletes receiving treatment while watching SportsCenter Top Ten on the television hanging from the opposite wall. But on this particular day, my focus was on my ailing arm.

Suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity of prodding, I winced and screamed. The trainer, who had been searching for the one spot that was causing my pain, had found it. A small flexor muscle towards the lateral region of my proximal ulna (for those not familiar with anatomical terminology...the outside of my elbow), was tied in what seemed like the tightest knot ever created. My trainer's thumb had found the knot and proceeded to dig into the area deeply and move in a circular motion. And I writhed in pain, grimacing and yelping at each 180 degree turn.

After the unpleasant experience of massaging out the muscle, I departed from the training room. I was a bit relieved at the fact that there was nothing directly affecting the UCL itself, but was still somewhat distraught over the fact that there was an uncomfortable feeling associated with throwing a baseball. I wondered if the pain could be related to the original diagnosis of a torn flexor muscle- Dr. Andrews did say that the muscle was actually slightly torn along with the UCL rupture. Maybe that hadn't healed yet, and maybe I aggravated it during a lifting session. The paranoia began to set in again. Should I eat with my right hand? Try writing with my right hand? Put the bionic arm back on? I didn't want my arm to hurt anymore, no matter where the pain was.

I called my girlfriend on the way to my car and described what I'd just experienced to her. After hearing everything, she provided a fairly logical and precise explanation. I typically trust her word with respect to medical occurrences being that she's employed full-time in a critical care unit of a medical center after studying four years of nursing in college.

"Well, you haven't gotten much sleep lately, right?" She was sure right about that one...I'd stayed up late and woken up early several days in a row to study for finals. "And how many notes have you taken?" Well, I thought, I had re-written all of my homeworks, quizzes, and important notes from the semester. Her final conclusion...

"Maybe your arm is just tired."

It seemed logical to me.

I arrived at physical therapy Friday morning refreshed after catching up on some much needed sleep once my last exam was completed Thursday afternoon. I warmed up just as I always do, and began throwing with my trainer. I went through the session and zipped four seamers to my target's chest, one after another. There was a slight twinge every few throws, but nothing nearly as significant as it was 48 hours previously. I finished up the throwing session, the ensuing lifting and entered the training room. The massage hurt- but not as badly. The knot was gradually subsiding and restrengthening. I was getting better.

Tomorrow morning begins yet another step in the process, where I progress to three sets of 25 throws from 60 feet. I've rested the muscles this entire weekend, not writing down a single word and doing minimal typing (this blog post notwithstanding of course). I've iced the arm and received a few soft tissue rubdowns from my girlfriend. And chances are, I'll feel completely fine tomorrow morning when I bring my arm forward to release the ball to my throwing partner...

...but you never know. That's the toughest part of it all.