Some version thereof

Returning to golf triggered my sciatica, which came back in a roar. I’m on week two, and it’s improving a lot, but still. I just told Dale, you know, a couple of weeks ago I was doing the sit-to-stands where you pop up out of the chair 10 times in a row, and now I can barely wiggle my way up with my arms holding onto something for support.

But then I said, maybe those exercises helped me. It could be worse. And we both said at the same time, “Who fucking knows?” And then we laughed like lunatics, because it helps. Really.

Just because there isn’t enough drama at our house, I also have an incredibly intense stiff neck. This isn’t very Stoic of me, but let me tell you how I did that. It’s a classic case of no good deed goes unpunished.

When I had breast cancer, they removed lymph nodes for biopsies, which puts me at risk for lymphedema. It has been 10 years, but the risk never goes away. I had some swelling in the armpit where my fracture was, so I asked about that and was referred to the lymphedema clinic.

They said I don’t have lymphedema, but since I have compromised lymph nodes it might be prudent to do a few exercises to encourage drainage. She gave me a pamphlet with the exercises, which looked easy peasy. And so like the good girl that I am, I went home and did them. She knew I was recovering from a fractured proximal humerus, but even if she had said be careful, you aren’t who you used to be, I would probably have blown that off. These exercises did not look threatening.

The next morning I couldn’t move my neck. It feels like I aged 20 years. Maybe just a little too much considering what my body’s been through? Stress? Who fucking knows? It’s getting better, but in hindsight, why did I eagerly agree to a solution for a problem I didn’t have? I need to work on that.

And then there’s Dale’s knee. Partial ACL tear and some other stuff. We finally got to see a doctor, although we can’t see the “specialist” until August! But we saw our regular sports medicine guy, who we like very much. The doctor agreed with the “conservative management” plan, which means no weight bearing for at least six weeks and no surgery likely. He wants to see Dale again before we finally gets to the mother ship in August.

Dale feels pretty good, especially after seeing the doctor, who is an osteopath. I love me an osteopath. Dale has been referred to the same ortho I went to for my arm, which tells me it’s just a case of monitoring.

Just as I was whining about being able to do the sit-to-stands only a couple of weeks ago, Dale said I know! I was walking two miles after fracturing my pelvis, and now this. But we managed to turn on our inner Stoics. We are strong and resilient. This is just a minor setback.

A friend in the healing business told me it’s the year. This year. 2026. She said the shit has hit the fan with just about everybody she knows except her college-age daughter, who is having the time of her life.

Oh, sure, to be young and perky.

I was never too worried about aging, happy to be alive and all that, but whatever happened to you 20 or 30 years ago will be worse when it happens after 70. You heard it here first.

Dale and I have discussed it ad nauseum, and we’ve accepted this is our current reality. We also concluded this isn’t the beginning of the end. We didn’t go from healthy to doomed in a matter of months. We’ve led healthy, active lifes, and this is simply a string of bad luck. We will push through it and return to our former glory, or at least the creaky but glorious 70-somethings we were before all this went down.

Or some version thereof.