...or maybe not. Apparently today's imaging session wasn't about achieving a diagnosis, but just about ruling out a couple of easy things that might get a bit nasty. So i haven't got any Inguinal canal tears or hernias, but i suspected that anyway based on me not actually having suffered a traumatic injury; the source of the soreness was always going to be a repetetive injury of some kind. The sonographer was a bit displeased about the fact i was still running once a week, but in the absence of a diagnosis, which the sonographer was unable to provide, it might not be the wrong thing to do.
I was told it's going to be down to someone else to provide the diagnosis, but i'm not told who; it must be a secret and i've got to go back to my doctor and start again and generally bugger off. Unfortunately it seems half a million quids worth of kit can't see things like swelling and Bursitis, or so i'm told; maybe detecting the gender of an 18wk old foetus is all the work it needs to do. It's a classic example of how the best gear in the world is only ever as good as the person operating it. They aren't trained to detect the sort of repetetive strain injuries people involved in sport pick up, only to spot potentially expensive and embarrasing problems like abnormal development in unborn babies.
I've had this song and dance from the nhs before anyway, i've got an appointment with my get-me-out-of-the-shit physio guy on friday. i'll have my arse sawn off, varnished, and offered to the winner of this year's inaugural 'Wharfedale Harriers' Great Whernside if he draws a blank and tells me twice in the space of 10secs that i can leave whenever i want.