What’s the difference between a “slice” and a “chunk”? Depends on what that particular adjective is in reference to. Either way, the words refer to a portion, a part of something. The dictionary refers to a “slice” as a smaller cut taken from a larger portion. I cut the chunk of cheddar cheese into slices. A chunk is a considerable amount. I want a chunk of chocolate cake, but I will only eat a slice.
The surgeon originally told me my muscle biopsy would require the removal of a “slice” of my muscle. An out-patient procedure which would leave me sore and uncomfortable but with the ability to walk.
My surgeon lied.
Okay, maybe “lied” is too strong a word. Maybe my surgeon wasn’t being intentionally malicious or evil, but he did withhold certain information. Because now, after the fact, I’m told a “chunk” of muscle was removed from my left calf. I’m told that some patients feel discomfort for extended periods of time, and for some, the healing process takes weeks.
None of this information was shared with me at our pre-op appointment. If it had, would I have gone through with it?
That’s a good question without an answer.
Because right now my body, specifically my legs, are out of my control. This mysterious ailment began in July when swelling in my left calf led to an inability to walk, which led to a four-day hospitalization, which then led to months of doctors appointments, various x-rays and scans, and blood work. And still nobody knows what is wrong with my legs.
My legs do work; thank goodness. I can walk, tiptoe, dance, stomp, climb - all things I couldn’t do a few months ago. But I do these things with daily pain. Sometimes I do these things while biting my lip or my sleeve, with a grimace on my face.
During the past seven months, I have had appointments with my primary care physician, a vascular surgeon, and a rheumatologist. Different doctors, and none with a prognosis to offer. The general consensus - something is wrong with my legs. Inflammation shows up in every test.
But what is wrong and how do I fix it? That’s what I want to know. So I’m waiting.
And in the meanwhile, I’m trying to walk again. To climb stairs again. To stand after sitting.
All because of this missing chunk of muscle.