Prognosis is not just a funny word, there is nothing funny about it.
I don’t know why I am obsessively thinking about prognosis lately, but I am. I am required to give a prognosis when evaluating children. I’ve had to stare at a prognosis in my own child.
I received a prognosis once. I was seventeen and I balled my eyes out in my mom’s car. I was a senior in highschool, a starter and captain of the girl’s basketball team when my knee gave out after three games; and truth is, I only got through the last two on pure adrenalin. I wanted this season sooooo bad. I thought maybe I would get a scholarship. I never had the benefit of year round jam leagues or extra basketball camps like many highschool athletes. Everything I had achieved was with my home and park basketball hoops and my dad who practiced with me….A LOT.
We went to see Dr. Nygaard. Yes, I remember his name and it’s been almost twenty years and I only saw him twice. Let’s just say he made that much of an impact.
He could find nothing structurally wrong with my knee. MRI scans revealed there was a ton of fluid and it was inflamed, but nothing structural was amiss. Blood work revealed elevated rheumatoid factors (like rheumatoid arthritis), but it wasn’t high enough to dx with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis yet. I remember hanging on his every word, and that’s when he said,
“In ten years you will probably be in a wheelchair. It looks degenerative in nature and in a couple years your blood will probably show levels high enough to be officially diagnosed with a life of rheumatoid arthritis.” He went on about cortisone shots, anti-inflammatories etc.
“So wait. Are you saying I can’t play basketball?”
Yes, I was seventeen. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I cried all the way home while my mom put on her tough mama bear face and told me it was going to be okay. “Laura, you have to accept the prognosis, but I will always be by your side, wheelchair and all.” I cried harder. How could my mom believe him? It couldn’t be true, could it? I found out later her guilt was overwhelming, and yet it was nothing she did. Moms I guess are all universal and pretty predictable.
Now, one could argue he was being kind. In the end, it’s better to be honest and not give me wild hopes. If he truly thought I had the onstage of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, wasn’t it better to start preparing me? All I know, is telling me I couldn’t play basketball was crushing enough, but now I had to accept I had some sort of degenerative auto-immune condition too. I mean, what else could it be?
I went on with my life, and pretty much abandoned ever picking up a basketball again. I still worked out and stayed active. I grew stronger. My knee improved slightly over the years.
At 27, ten years after that grim prognosis, I went back into my general practitioner and asked for my rheumatoid levels to be checked. They all came back normal, and guess what? I am still walking upright. I don’t have rheumatoid arthritis. Found out later after doing research, inflammation of the joints and rheumatoid symptoms can be a side effect of vaccines, which I received right before the start of my basketball season at my physical. My mom is convinced that is what did it. Oh, but medical doctors don’t question vaccine safety. That wasn’t on his radar so I must have a degenerative disease that would mean I don’t walk in ten years. Whatever.
Anyway, back to prognosis. Yeah, I don’t like them. I’m not a fan. I want to be honest, but I think my honesty might be a simple, “I don’t know, but we’re going to work our butt off.” Unfortunately, I still have to write a “statement” in a report. Guess this isn’t the last I’ll be thinking about prognosis.
