We have a new garage door. When you’re a homeowner, a lot of things become a priority that you’d just as soon not deal with. My husband and I are expert at kicking the can down the road until we have no choice but to deal with it. In this case, the garage door, after 45 years, decided it no longer wanted to open without my husband’s help. We’re not getting any younger so …
Voila! A garage door with windows!
Let the sun shine in!
It will be nice not to have to turn on a light every time we enter the garage.
Family
We visited my nephew and his family in South Carolina this weekend. Our first visit, but not our last. He has two teenage sons and a 6-year-old boy and (almost) 4-year-old girl. The drive from our home to Columbia was long (about 10 hours start to finish); the way home was only an hour shorter. But it was well worth it to have quality time with my nephew and his family and to be (at times) commandeered by his two youngest. For the most part, they considered us as furniture and spent a goodly amount of time sitting or lying on our laps. I had hoped to see a bit of Columbia itself, but once we were there, we just wanted to be with family.
Health
The last few weeks were spent seeing a lot of my orthopedic doctor as we (once again) tried a treatment to alleviate most of the pain in my left knee. Fortunately, I really like my doctor. She’s young, she listens, and she’s, overall, very cool. I received a series of hyaluronic acid injections as expected but she also removed a large amount of inflammatory fluid before each injection. Ick.
While my knee will never feel 100% great, I’m having a lot less pain. Fingers crossed it stays that way for a long while.
Yes, indeed, I had the dreaded MRI. Events happened so fast, I barely had time to be afraid. Here’s what happened.
On a Wednesday morning, I saw my chiropractor. I had already decided to request an MRI. A “new” pain was affecting the right side of my neck so I was done playing the game of patience. He anticipated me and thought out loud about how to proceed: should he jump through the insurance company’s hoops or should he ask my primary physician to jump? He decided on the latter, made some adjustments to my back that only a chiropractor can make, and sent me on my way.
That afternoon (yes, that very afternoon), my primary physician’s office called to say that my docs had talked to each other, and I needed to make an office visit with my primary doc (one of the hoops we both jump through). To our surprise, a morning slot was available on Friday. Yes, that Friday, less than 48 hours away.
I met with my primary physician who was motivated to get me an MRI. She ran a few assessments on me, to check my strength and resistance. They were worried about stenosis, about the possibility that my nerves were being compressed. Sound familiar? Severe spinal stenosis was what my husband had surgery for last June. If he has stenosis and I have stenosis, does that mean it’s contagious?
My doc proceeded to caution me that if I have the MRI, and, based on the results, she refers me to a neurosurgeon, she will expect me to be compliant. She lectured me on the risk of developing atrophy in my arms. I didn’t need the lecture. I let her know that I understood, that my husband had had to fight to get an MRI and be seen by a neurologist. Although she was wearing a mask, I could tell she winced.
I asked if she would prescribe drugs for me. She said she usually didn’t. I said I was claustrophobic. She asked if Valium would be okay. You know my answer.
That afternoon (yes, that very afternoon), my primary physician’s office calls to tell me I’ve been scheduled for an MRI. The appointment was for that coming Wednesday morning.
Okay, that was some pretty fast scheduling. Here’s the kicker: I had to show up at 6:45 am.
Not only am I not a morning person, but I am also a retired, not-a-morning person. I concede that, for the past month, I’ve been getting up before 7:30 am to feed our cats and then walk for a couple of miles in my neighborhood. That’s different. I don’t brush my teeth, wash my face, or even put on clean clothes (sorry if this is too much information) to go for my walks. The key to successfully walking in the morning is to do as little preparation as possible. Going to a facility where I’ll have to interact with people is a whole other thing. Plus, I’d need Greg to drive me since I have to take the Valium an hour before my appointment.
Greg took it all in stride. Let’s make an adventure out of it. Let’s try and find a place to have breakfast! I don’t know why, but Tallahassee has very few restaurants open for breakfast, other than the usual Village Inn, Waffle House, and iHop. We found a place close by and … it was okay. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
We arrived at Radiology Associates with me starting to feel pretty good. Check-in was efficient and, before I knew it, I was being escorted to the locker room. Everything but underwear and socks came off; hospital gown was put on and then I stood in the hallway for a while, waiting, but not for long.
I asked if I could go in feet first, but the technician said no. He helped me put in earplugs and draped a blanket over me. As he adjusted the cloth around my head, I drifted back to all the times I’d ever been in a hospital, all the times I yielded to someone else’s care of me. I closed my eyes.
Dang, those MRIs are LOUD!
I don’t know how long I was in there. Maybe 20 minutes, but I was surprised and even a little disappointed when it was over. On to the Egg Cafe and breakfast! I got scrambled eggs with Greek trimmings and Greg got an omelet with smoked salmon. Our meals must have been sitting awhile because the eggs weren’t hot; they were the cool side of warm. We were too hungry to complain, but, chances are, we won’t be going back.
That evening (yes, that very same evening), my primary physician’s office called with the MRI results. No “spinal column compression,” but several bulging discs. So, good news and meh news. Next stop is an orthopedist and that appointment is a month away. Meanwhile, I continue my cold/heat therapy. although haphazardly. I’ve resumed my yoga practice and lifting light weights at the gym. I do chin tucks and neck stretches. I do what I can to avoid surgery.
Even though my doc prescribed just one 5 mg tablet of benzodiazepine, I was in withdrawal on Thursday. Totally sunk into a funk. What can I say? When it comes to drugs and alcohol, I’m a lightweight.
Red-shouldered hawk in tree.
The above photo is one reason why I go for morning walks. The next two are from this morning, the first at the beginning of my walk, the next at the end of my walk.
And here is a gratuitous cat photo: Junior throwing me a little shade.
Junior tries to snooze while his mom plays paparazzi.
Wednesday, August 21, 2019, was our thirtieth wedding anniversary. My husband and I often lose track of how long we’ve been married. Perhaps it’s because we don’t have children, those biological markers of time passing. Our cats are no help since, on average, they age out at eighteen, and they always overlap.
The best reminder we have of our years together is the aches and pains we’ve both accumulated since we married. The morning of our anniversary, my husband greeted me in the kitchen with slight twists and turns of his torso while I microwaved my neck pad. My husband has three separate and distinct problems with his back, the worst of which is spinal stenosis. I have cervical osteoarthritis and lately have been suffering with torn muscles and cartilage in my left shoulder and left knee. The injuries seem to take much longer to heal than they used to.
Without those aches and pains, we could pretend we’re still in our first decade as a married couple with many more decades to look forward to. Instead, we’re hoping for at least another twenty years, thirty if we’re lucky.
So what did these two old farts do to celebrate their anniversary? Well, they went for a bike ride, of course.
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We had planned to go to Gainesville, Florida, to bike the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail. Our furred kids derailed that plan so we settled for the second best thing: the lower fourteen miles of the St. Marks Historic Railroad State Trail. We could have started further up the trail and logged more miles, but the day promised to be hot and we didn’t want to overdo it. Plus, the lower fourteen are the prettiest miles of the trail.
After stopping at the Wakulla River Park to stretch and gaze at the quiet water, we headed back up and made a slight detour for cold water, hot coffee and bagel sandwiches at The Shack. We usually eat as many calories as we burn.
We’ve had a few intense storms come through the past week, leaving a couple of inches of standing water in the low spots of the trail. On a hot day, those bigger than life puddles are most welcomed.
(Oh, yes, that’s my husband at the end, on the ground, trying to collect bugs to photograph.)
All in all, it was a fun day. I love my blue 1981 Peugeot (bike, not car), and I love that biking is one thing I can do that doesn’t hurt my aging joints.
Since Thursday I’ve been battling a cold … or something. Not sure what I’ve got, and battling probably isn’t the right word since I spend the majority of my time reclined. I throw my army of aspirin, cough suppressant, and Benadryl down my throat, chased by a liter of orange juice or Gatorade, and hope for the best while the rest of me dozes, coughs, and sniffles.
Usually I don’t let a silly old cold get me down, but this one has come along with a fever. Although the fever has gone down, it’s tenaciously hanging around. Before anyone starts shipping chicken soup to me, I will seek medical advice on Monday if matters remain the same. Weakness is my current nemesis and just typing this brief post makes me want to curl up on my bed with my five odd pillows cushioning my aching body.
I made a pathetic effort at virtual socializing, and decided it’s best to just let you all know:
I. Am. Sick.
And for that reason, too, comments are closed. Here’s a gratuitous kitty movie to take the edge off my otherwise sour mood. This is an oldie but goodie. My cat Mikey (RIP) rolling around on pebbles warmed by the sun, one of his few pleasure near the end of his life.
Here is the 45th installment of Ten Top Lists of What Not to Do by Marie Ann Bailey of 1WriteWay at http://1writeway.com and John W. Howell of Fiction Favorites at http://johnwhowell.com. These lists are simu-published on our blogs each Monday. We hope you enjoy.
10. When you have allergies, do not offer to house sit for friends with animals. If you do, at best your sneezing will only cause the animals to hide from you. At worst, you may find yourself in the ER on a respirator trying to remember if you left the front door open.
9. When you have allergies, do not accept an offer to go for a nice ride in the country. If you do, at best your nice ride will turn into a sneezing nightmare. At worst, your companion will leave you beside the road with your address written on a note pinned to your shirt.
8. When you have allergies, do not eat anything out unless you know the ingredients. If you do, at best you may have to go home early to get some medicine. At worst, you might cause those around you to panic and call EMS as your face begins to swell and turn purple.
7. When you have allergies, do not volunteer to drive the hay wagon at the school fundraiser. If you do, at best you will be the source of too many “bless you’s.” At worst, your sneezing will cause the horses to spook allowing for a runaway wagon and terrified children and adults.
6. When you have allergies, do not leave home without a spare handkerchief or tissues. If you do, at best you will need to use anything at hand to cover a sneezing fit. At worst, there will be nothing at hand but your hands and you will cause everyone near you to run away in fear as if you have the bubonic plague.
5. When you have allergies, do not think those who do not have allergies will understand your symptoms. If you do, at best you may get some concerned looks when the sneezing hits. At worst, you might find yourself having to pay for the services of the EMS team called by a well-meaning person.
4. When you have allergies, do not leave your medicine at home even for a short time. If you do, at best you will get by without any symptoms. At worst, you will find yourself curled in the fetal position praying to be spared another violent sneezing attack.
3. When you have allergies, do not think you can go on a picnic in the woods. If you do, at best you will survive with only occasional sneezing bouts. At worst, you will be stung by some strange insect and find yourself slowly losing the ability to raise your arms to get your epi-pen.
2. When you have allergies, do not offer to deliver the flowers on special holidays no matter how heavily medicated. If you do, at best you could have a reaction to an unknown flower and find yourself sneezing all the way to delivery. At worst, by the time you make the delivery, your sneezing will have caused all the blooms to fly off and only the stems will remain of the bouquet.
1. When you have allergies and are heavily medicated, do not operate heavy machinery. If you do, at best you may embarrass yourself by being too doped up to figure out how to turn on the machinery. At worst, you may just take down one wall too many and have a boss who expects you to pay for the damage.
I often claim that I have no regrets, that life happens and it all works out in the end. Like, if I hadn’t had that accident that nearly amputated my leg, I wouldn’t have received training for a new job and I wouldn’t have gotten a new job at the firm where I eventually met my future husband. Except I don’t really mean that. I do have regrets. Lots of them. And for that incident in particular (because the accident was in fact my fault), I always think that we would have met up some other way, if it were truly our destiny to be together. I’m a romantic but not so much of a masochist that I think I should have had to injure myself to meet the man of my dreams.
I don’t wallow in my regrets (at least not often), but I try to learn from them. Like, when I gained a chunk of weight because (in part) we had moved from an urban area where my feet were my primary mode of transport to the suburbs where the Almighty Automobile rules the streets. I didn’t make the necessary effort to keep my weight in check so while adjusting (badly) to the odd concept that I had to make time to walk, my clothes got tighter and tighter.
That weight gain was regrettable because there came a time when I needed very much to feel sexy and attractive, and I was anything but. Just roll me in flour …
Adding insult to fattiness, I’ve had to double-down with exercising and dieting. I’ve got my waist back along with a more presentable butt, but I still have a long way to go to get back to my pre-suburbs weight (if ever). At least I don’t feel as self-conscious in downward facing dog as I used to.
Lesson learned is that when the weight comes off, it must stay off. Think black lacy thongs. Not an attractive thought where you’re 20+ pounds overweight. So the weight is being shed slowly but surely, and one at a time the thongs are moving from the bottom of my underwear drawer to the top.
Marie at 1 Write Way 