De Quervain's tenosynovitis-

It's the middle of July.
I've battled De Quervain's tenosynovitis (click title for more info) since early November of last year.
I get a little relief through massage, or hot treatment, or cold treatment, or stretching... but it always comes back to this baseline of painful thumb/wrist action. The worst is when my thumb tendon gets "caught" in my wrist, and then "pops" free.
Last week my mom got an ultrasound wand for consumer use; she couldn't use it so I borrowed it.
It started improving my mobility in 2 minutes.
This does not mean that I kept my mobility, but I am typing this with the use of my thumb 3o minutes after the treatment.
So here is my attempt at documentation of my first use of this at my own home tonight (trying to replicate the results from earlier this week): [The images are mirrored from PhotoBooth]
First, my healthy left thumb, flexed as far as possible:








Next my problem right thumb, flexed as far as possible:









Treatment #1. Now after the first 5 minutes of treatment: flexed as far as possible--improved flex with less pain (ultrasound wand shown):





Treatment #2. Now after an additional 5 minute treatment (10 min. total): flexed as far as possible--more improved flex with less pain:





So what does this mean? Not sure. Will need to do further tests, including controls (unplugged wand w/out gel; unplugged wand w/ gel).

Life and July 2010

The nice thing about returning to a place of memories is that it fosters a sense of continuity. Refugio, Texas, is like that for me.
Though I see something new every time I return here, I also am grounded in the familiarity of the smells and sounds of Creation that abound in this part of the world. Last year was bone-dry drought; this week is lush, soggy greeness.
Oak trees here... giant sentinals of time... are part of that continuity, that innate sense of primal endurance that welcome me back like an old great-uncle, when I once again encounter them in the pasture or prominent station near the roadway. And it is with similar sadness when I see some of these centurions brown with death, a contrast to the life around them, especially the giant post oaks of Kelley Road. Some say the drought took its toll; others- an oomycete that selects against Q.stellata. The live oaks do not share the same vulnerability and continue to push out green shade amongst these scattered deceased giants. It's almost like there was a generation of post oaks planted a hundred years ago, and all have become nesting sites and termite fodder today.
Nevertheless, life goes on.
It says so in the performance-art of relatives visiting a local cemetary, or citizens taking photos of some relic left over from the age of windmills and cattle drives; what was is not as it was, yet is for those who look a reminder of what was and might possibly be.
Life goes on; God, I thank you for that reminder.
I love you, Lord.
Thanks for putting up with me.