A 72-year-old man was escorted into my clinic by his two able-bodied sons, each of them holding their father’s hand and elbow to support him better. He walked with a robotic tightness, but with little control over where his next step would fall. After about eight minutes of trying to shuffle into a chair, he finally sat amidst a few moans. “Everything hurts,” he lamented. “My neck hurts, my back hurts, and I just can’t walk without support,” he groaned, as he tried to adjust himself through his aches. “I feel like I’m walking on cotton wool,” he explained, narrating what many patients with cervical spinal cord compression specify.

“Any other problems?” I questioned. I allow my patients to finish saying everything they have to, before I ask any leading questions. “My hands are weak and numb, and stuff keeps falling from them; I can’t button my shirt and my handwriting is like a drunk man’s,” he shared. “How’s your control over passing urine?” I asked. He shook his head sideways and the corners of his mouth drooped with embarrassment at having to talk about it in front of his grown-up boys. “I’m extremely unhappy with my life,” he concluded.