My followup appointment with sports medicine did not produce any more answers. The previous diagnosis no longer seems appropriate, and no new diagnosis has been found. So I'm scheduled for an MRI on Wednesday to find out more.
What I know about MRIs can be condensed into a one minute YouTube supercut of all the medical dramas I used to watch. That, and they're ridiculously expensive. Like, all-the-superlatives-you-can-think-of expensive. An MRI is bringing out the big guns. When the doctor said, "If we did an MRI we could be sure if it's the muscle or the bone," I just assumed he'd follow that with something like, "but we'll do _______ before we have to go that far." So I waited for him to suggest something else. He didn't. I was very confused.
And by that time it was 4:30 on a Friday and there wasn't anyone to do the scheduling, so I went home and repeated I'm getting an MRI to anyone who could hear me. And then I went to knitters' breakfast and told everyone there too. I think that what really shocks me is the idea that the doctor is taking this seriously.
When a friend of mine asked me where I was on the pain scale, I said that it varied from 0 to 4 or 5. I think she was trying to help me not worry by making me admit that it doesn't hurt that much, really, not when I put it in perspective y'know?
Except that I don't need to talk myself down from fear that something is terribly, horribly, wrong. I need to talk myself into believing that my concerns deserve to be taken seriously, that "I feel fine except when I dance," is NOT, actually, the same as "I feel fine." I need to convince myself that "not able to participate in an activity I love," is, actually, a valid reason for concern. This is harder than it should be. I still feel weird going to the doctor for anything. And when I do, I usually preface everything with well, it's probably nothing...