I'm trying not to over analyze...

I have a problem.

I have a problem elbow.

I've been suffering (and I don't use that term lightly) from lateral epicondylitis -aka tennis elbow, for 17 months now. And it isn't getting better.

At the beginning, I was able to control my symptoms with ice and anti-inflammatory drugs. There was one particularly bad bout in November of 2009 that I opted to use ultrasound and iontophoresis and it resolved. I mean, completely resolved.

When I transferred from outpatient to acute care, I began having twinges again. I tried stretching, ice, ultrasounds and NSAIDs, but when it didn't get better after a couple of months, I finally gave in and had a cortisone injection. I had immediate and complete relief that lasted about two months.

We had a period of time at my work where we had a lot of bariatric patients and that aggravated my elbow again. Three months later, I was back at the orthopedist's office getting yet ANOTHER cortisone injection, but this time the relief wasn't immediate... and it wasn't complete.

After two months of discomfort, I decided to have someone other than myself treat my elbow. I have been going to outpatient for about three weeks now.... and I was seeing a small improvement until last week. I had a patient who began to fall, and used my PT instincts to catch him before he hit the ground, wrenching my elbow in the process. My elbow is now swollen and sore.

And I'm really scared.

I know the statistics: I know that if you have a prolonged tendonitis or inflammation around a joint that you are more likely to develop scar tissue. I know that I only have one more cortisone injection in my future. I know that the next course of action after the injection is surgery... and that lateral epicondyle releases aren't always successful, and may lead to weakening of the extensor tendons.

I know that if I have surgery I'll essentially end my career as an acute care PT.

I had a long heart-to-heart with my PT, who is also my former boss, and I shed a few tears. He told me that when he palpates my elbow he feels a lot of inflammation and scar tissue. He told me that while outpatient therapy is making small gains, I have a set back everyday when I go to work. He told me to come home and carefully look at my options.

Since my first year of undergrad, I've never wanted to be anything but a physical therapist. I just don't know what my options are right now.

Hollywood makes it look easy.

When I pictured my life with kids, I had an idyllic sense of what my life would be like:
I would come home from a fulfilling day at work and make a delicious and nutritious dinner that my family would devour. My children would happily play with one another while I cooked, with the occasional squabble that could be nixed with a stern glance. We would eat together as a family and then play a game or read a book together. My children would crawl into bed, I'd sing them a lullaby, and then I would finish whatever minor things needed to be done around the house, like the dinner dishes. I would crawl into my own bed, and fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

Reality has a way of kicking you in the butt and then taunting you while you're down.
My work is just that: work. I deal with really sick people, some who are dying, all day long. It seems like lately we've had more people die than success stories. I leave work exhausted and emotionally drained. Most nights, I meet Scott and home and we throw something together for our dinners: one for us and one for Chloe. She is such a picky eater. Usually her supper consists of bread and yogurt. We keep trying to introduce new things, but she isn't buying it.
The kids squabble. With each other. With the animals. With us.
I'm tired of telling Chloe to stop screaming and use her words.
I'm tired of telling Caleb to stop whining and tattling on his sister.
I'm tired of telling both of them to quit tackling the cat or stop cornering the dog.

Bedtime is a battle every night with Caleb.
I just finished another round of sleep training with Chloe who completely lost her ability to self-soothe after months of teething and ear infections. Fingers crossed, its working so far.

My house looks like a tornado hit it.

My kitchen is consistently dirty.

But despite all of this, I'm happy. Really happy, not in that fake Hollywood kind of way either.