I’ve always been told that the best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your arm. I’ve also been told that "God helps those who help themselves." The older I get, the more I believe these statements, in general, to be true.

The point of this week’s column has to do with health care. It is no secret that health care in America leaves something to be desired and that it really probably isn’t as handy or as good as it once was. However, when it comes to caring for yourself, the best person to consult is, well, yourself.

You are the one who knows when something feels different in your body. You are the one who knows when there’s an ache or a pain. You are the one who will ultimately have to do something about it. There is no one who can take care of you like yourself.

This comes from things I have learned over the past two or three years.

After almost six months of pain, my wife had surgery this week. She had been going to the doctor for several months and each time, the doctor had told her that she had arthritis or bursitis in her shoulder. But my wife has a high tolerance for pain (she lives with me, doesn’t she) and after a month or two, I figured there was more to it than the doctor had found.

She continued going to the doctor and he continued to insist that it was simply bursitis. He sent her to hour after hour of physical therapy but when the pain continued and even worsened. We did as much research as possible on bursitis and although some of the symptoms were the same, we finally came to the conclusion that it was not bursitis.

Finally, after months of wasted time and money and even more importantly, pain and frustration, the doctor finally ordered an MRI. The minute the physician read the MRI, he told her she should cease all physical therapy and he set an appointment for surgery.

Following Wednesday’s successful surgery, it was determined that a "large tear" of the tendon that attaches inside the rotator cuff had occurred. While she has been off from work only three days as of this writing, she is already chomping at the bit to get out and about every chance she gets. And while the doctor indicated that she would be out of commission for six to eight weeks, he doesn’t know my wife. She’s a pretty tough cookie.

Doctors have countless patients to see these days. Their time in the room with you is very limited. Unless you let them know that what you have is serious business, chances are they will patch you up well enough for your body to help heal itself. That is not always a bad idea, however, it is not always the answer.

As we waited in the waiting area for the nurses to prepare Connie for surgery, I thought about how commonplace surgery has become. A surgery that would have meant several days in the hospital only a few years ago is now done on an outpatient basis. An hour in surgery, an hour in recovery, and an hour or two to make sure you are going to be OK and you’re on your way. That’s not all bad either. Most of us are more comfortable healing at home.

My wife has deep veins and we both know what that means. When they started trying to find the vein to dispense the IV fluids, it was not one, not two, not three but four sticks before they finally found a vein large enough to administer what was needed. The anesthesiologist finally stuck blood but indicated that it would have to be redone one she was asleep.

Have you ever gone to have blood drawn and had the poor phlebotomist try and try but not be able to get the blood from your arm. Unless a great deal of blood is needed, I found a way to prevent needless sticks. The veins in the backs of my hands are not deep and are easily stuck. I’ve simply asked the lady drawing blood to take it from the back of my hand. They usually comply with my request because, after all, it is my body. They usually issue a warning that it hurts worse. But for someone with needle-phobia, one stick beats three, not matter where or the amount of pain associated with the one stick.