For Thursday, November 18, 1999 Drummer column, Gibbs, 736 words

Feeling funny

I'll tell you the story of a recent injury. It gave me a good scare, and I learned a lesson or two. Besides, I need to practice complaining about my health for my old age.

I busted my gut putting in my new hot tub. It was me and a couple of friends -- Ron West and Brian Duquette. We were pouring the slab from a trailer full of wet concrete after months sitting on my butt.

Ron and Brian were the expert council. They helped me build the forms, so I asked them to supervise the pouring. As it was a favor to me, I volunteered to do the grunt work after months of sitting on my butt. I shoveled the wet mix into a wheelbarrow in front of the house and trudged it to the rear of the house, again and again, after months of sitting on my butt. By the end of the day everything was sore but my butt.

The next day my son, Adam, and I each grabbed shovels to move a mound of dirt in the backyard. During the shoveling my belly began to feel funny. It didn't hurt. It felt funny, like it had grown and turned to jelly, especially down the middle. I hung up my shovel, went in the house, and reclined into my favorite butt-o-lounger.

My lounger is a green recliner I bought at Costco for my wife one Christmas. It's soft and overstuffed and stretches out flat like a bed. Sitting in it has always given me the greatest comfort. That day, however, it gave me the greatest discomfort.

My belly felt bloated and stretched. It wasn't pain. It was funny feeling, like I was becoming a Macy's Day balloon.

The next morning my belly jiggled as I drove over bumps on my way to work. It jiggled when I climbed steps. That night I lay on my back in the living room and tried a sit-up. When I did a bulge rose up from the base of my ribcage to my navel. That was truly funny looking. I couldn't recall ever seeing a vertical mound like that before. I couldn't recall my last sit-up either, however.

Next day I called a Kaiser advice nurse. She said the dreaded word -- hernia -- and asked me a series of screening questions, like does it hurt when you poke it. I said no. She said "You probably just pulled your abdominal muscles. Give it a week, then call back if it still hurts."

"It doesn't actually hurt," I said. "It feels funny and it looks funny."

"Whatever, give it a week."

My wife, Susan, convinced me to call again four days later, to shut me up. I asked for an inspection, and we found a Sunday afternoon appointment open to see a nurse practitioner.

The nurse took one look at my gut and said, "That's a hernia. I'll schedule you an appointment to consult with a surgeon."

A week of discomfort later I called to find out I was 195th on the hernia waiting list. I spent another week of discomfort coming to terms with my condition -- Steve Gibbs, hernia man.

Then I went online. I figured I'd become a hernia expert while I waited. I visited a half a hundred hernia home pages, but my bulge wasn't mentioned. I emailed a few surgeons who posted their e-addresses, and a Dr. Goodyear wrote back. He said I probably didn't have a hernia, but rather diastasis recti -- a slight but permanent separation of the abdominal muscles, like a stretched tendon, a less severe ailment that is common among pregnant women. I would eventually forget about it.

Whew. I relaxed and realized that that was my funny feeling -- I felt pregnant.

I called Kaiser and requested a visit with my MD instead of waiting on the long surgeon list. I convinced them I was suffering, but not from a hernia.

A week later my doctor examined me and said, "You have a hernia. I'll schedule you a rush appointment."

Darn it, I thought. I'm not pregnant after all. Three days later I was back at Kaiser to consult with a surgeon. In my mind I was rearranging my affairs, clearing my calendar. The surgeon took one look at my rising middle and said, "You have diastasis recti. Go home. Resume your life. Forget about it."