It’s pretty rare that I pen a love column on a golf related site, but circumstances leave me little choice. I recently enjoyed the ill-fortune of developing a rather severe case of “golfer’s elbow”. In reality, it’s “tennis elbow” (yes, there is a difference), but I don’t play tennis and I do play golf. You work it out from there. It’s an extremely painful and debilitating ailment with a lengthy recovery period. Frankly, it’s a bit depressing to have to stay on the sidelines while everyone else (except Chet Schwartz who has the same problem) competes on the golf links.
In my endless search for the silver lining, I have found points of light in the oppressive darkness of being on the disabled list. For example, with me out of action, Sandy Wiener can stop the financial bleeding he has experienced for years. He won’t have to pay me three times per week as his losses mount up in our longstanding personal Nassau. My golf ball expenses are down. I’ve got more time for my other pursuits.
But by and large, I’m bummed. There’s something cathartic about taking your aggression out on a tiny little ball with a big stick even if the ball usually gets the best of the contest.
The brightest light of all comes from the hearts of the players that make up our group of competitors. I’ve long said we’ve got a great bunch. That truth has become even more apparent when listening to the multitude of comments and words of encouragement in the wake of my misfortune. Not only has it been heart-warming, it has been entertaining beyond description. So many of them have offered caring suggestions as to how to treat the malaise so that I can return to golf as soon as possible. The variety of suggestions is reflected in the list below.
- The shot – cortisone. A powerful anti-inflammatory substance painfully injected into the elbow area. This is a particularly unappealing solution for a true trypanophobe such as myself.
- Consultation with an orthopedic surgeon. I have done this and the doctor selected prefers a very conservative approach involving six to nine months of rest followed by the possibility of surgery. This seems to call for a liberal application of common-sense, something I hold in rather short supply.
- Acupuncture – a process involving the insertion of not one, but many needles into one’s body. Another delight for a trypanophobe, but I have not ruled it out yet.
- Cream derived from marijuana. I now possess a small amount of this cream, but have yet to figure out how to roll it into cigarette paper.
- Marijuana itself – this “doobie therapy” offers potential, but I fear I’d go broke stocking my shelves with Hostess cupcakes and Twinkies. I’m also led to believe it leads to frequent derailments of one’s train-of-thought and my caboose already spends enough time in a ditch below the tracks.
- Naturopathic medicine. Hey – if it works, I’m all for it. However, I don’t know much about the topic and I’m not sure I’ve got the time to learn.
- Contraptions – Much of the advice I received involves the acquisition of things like braces, supports, slings. Some of them I now possess. However, the various “experts” with whom I come in contact confuse the hell out of me. For example, the forearm brace I have is to be worn all day, only when trying to swing a club, tightly secured, loosely secured, or not at all – depending upon the expert doing the talking.
- Work out regimens call for the use of a variety of devices. For example, the “Theraband Flexbar” allows me to torture myself into numbness. Admittedly, it’s not painful when you lose consciousness and that seems to be the direction this medieval device takes you.
- Physical therapy has been recommended by some. I’m pursuing this alternative and it seems to offer some promise. However, I find it interesting that it amounts to paying someone to tell me not to do most of the other things that have been recommended while she’s massaging the damaged parts of my arm.
Other suggestions have included “don’t swing so hard”, “get new clubs”, “get new shafts”, “golf left handed”, and “give up golf altogether”. Get a curadero, a brujo, or a medicine man. At this point, the only thing I know for certain is that there’s no magic cure. It’s going to take some time.
The best part of the situation is that the pain and discomfort is minimal when compared to the comfort and happiness that comes from knowing so many members of our golf group truly care about each other and want to help when someone is suffering. We’ve got an eclectic group with people from all different backgrounds, different walks in life, a range of philosophical bents, skill levels and ages. But the one thing they all seem to share is a fundamental love for humanity. The urge to help others in need is the hallmark of a good soul and we’re fortunate to have so many of them.