Scar Tissue

Every once in a while, there are medical conditions that become the hot diagnoses. Do you all remember about fifteen to eighteen years ago when anybody who was feeling tired or stressed was diagnosed as suffering from Epstein Barre syndrome? Okay, now tell me how often you have heard about that disease since then? Does no one get this anymore? Was there a vaccine that I never heard about? During my last physical, my doctor gave precautionary shots for tetanus and whooping cough. Is he incompetent? Did he forget to give me the Epstein Barre inoculation? I think not.

And, then, back in the 90's, any kid from the ages of 5 to 12 who acted up was diagnosed as ADD. "My son just shot the DHL guy. I guess he's ADD." "My daughter won't eat broccoli. Yep, ADD." Now, I do realize that this is a legitimate condition. As a matter of fact, I know there are quite a few people in my business world who are in their 40s and clearly were never diagnosed with ADD, primarily because it was not the hot condition at the time. But I digress...

Over the past month, I have heard about five or six people tell me that the cause of the pain somewhere in their body is due to scar tissue. This concept is used whether they have had surgery or not. My thought is that there is somebody who works in marketing for the Mayo Clinic who comes up with this stuff.

So, I go to my chiropractor this week for this nagging muscle pain around my lower abdomen. It is partly attributed to the fact that I sit writing on a computer almost seven hours a day. (And, of course, this new blogging exercise is now an added factor). But, as she is working on my deep tissue massage, she notes, "Hmm, you have a scar there. I am betting this is a scar tissue issue." I think about it for a second and realize that, yes, I did surgery six years ago in that precise region. (This was the operation where I donated some sporting good equipment to St. John's Hospital.)

I never had Epstein Barre. I am not ADD. But, I am now a full fledged card carrying member of the Scar Tissue brigade. And I am crouched over in pain proudly.

And, here's the new hopefully daily addition to this report:

Dinner last night: A friend from church and I do a dinner to celebrate our February birthdays. We went to Chez Mimi in Santa Monica. I had a mushroom salad, a New York steak with french fries and carrots, and an apple tart for dessert. The French waiter was particularly pokey and uninspired. His non-reaction to me reminded me of how well the French resisted the Nazis during WWII. Grant Tinker was dining at the next table and I spent most of the evening testing out my peripheral hearing.