Category: Health & Wellness

Did I mention holidays are a pain?

Let’s see. I’m angry, sad and tired. But I’m grateful for spinach. It’s truly the wonder vegetable. You can use it for a salad or add it to a bowl of soup or a pasta sauce. Craving something cheesy and delicious but trying to eat healthy? Spinach quesadilla.

And the best part is a tub lasts all week.

So, I’ve pretty much been living on spinach when I come home from being Dale’s companion and advocate at the Skilled Nursing Facility. You might recall he’s there for a fractured pelvis.

But more about me … when I get home, I eat something and struggle to stay up until 7 p.m. Rinse, lather, repeat.

In some ways, Dale is doing great. He can walk now with the walker and the Physical Therapist by his side. He’s cheerful and talkative. He got a new roommate who also hates Trump, and they’ve had some great discussions. I mean, come on, is that karma or what?

But it’s weird. The fractures are on the left. At first sitting was fine. But after almost a week in the nursing facility, his butt on the right side hurts so badly he can’t sit for more than five minutes.

I’ve been going kind of nuts helping to get this resolved. The medical system is complicated, and it’s not for the weary kind.

So far, they think it’s because he’s compensating, putting the weight on his right because the left hurts, but still, you don’t know for sure, and it’s scary. I was ready to get him out of there and back to the hospital, but that comes with baggage, too. Let’s say they find nothing else wrong and want to discharge him. He’d either have to go back to the nursing facility if they still had a spot for him or find another one or come home. And I don’t have his downstairs room set up yet.

That’s in the works, but nothing happens fast. Oh, and did I mention it’s the holidays? Pain doesn’t take a holiday, but people do. The Ortho is on vacation, and so is everyone apparently. No one else can see him right away.

In the meantime, I am pressing for an MRI, and that’s no easy task. I did finally escalate this at the Ortho’s office, and yes, tears were involved, but the supervisor called later to tell me he has an appointment next week, she set it up so the nursing facility can transport him on a gurney so he doesn’t have to sit. She spoke with the on-call doctor, who said if the pain gets worse before his appointment, then I should have him transferred to the hospital.

I feel like that’s a solid plan. Dale’s on board with it. The medical-in-laws are on board with it. Lots of people tell me Skilled Nursing Facilities are horrible, and I need to get him out as soon as possible. Yes, this one is flawed in many ways, but I believe he’s in good hands.

After a long and stressful day, I feel better knowing I got someone in his line of care (as opposed to someone I met at the gas station) to say when it’s time to go back to the hospital. They didn’t dismiss me and actually gave me information that helps clarify the decision for us. For that alone, I deserve a medal. Or at least a Jameson.

We’re going to see how he does over the next few days. They are going to try some different pain management techniques. If the pain doesn’t worsen and he continues to improve, we will try to get him home sooner rather than later. I’m lining up private help to augment what Medicare provides.

His downstairs bed comes tomorrow, and I’m also getting some grab bars installed. The guy flat on his back in the SNF scoffed at the grab bars. I said they’re really for me. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to fall down and go boom.

Oh, and while I’m dissing on Dale, I’ve been after him for years to try protein drinks. He wanted no part of them. He’s not eating well in the facility, so I suggested he ask for protein drinks. I said you can get chocolate, and they are delicious. No, no, no. Not for Mr. Dale.

Then I walked in yesterday, and he mentioned they are bringing him protein drinks in the afternoon. Like this was the first he’d heard of them. “They’re delicious!” I asked him what flavor he got, and he said chocolate. I might just leave him there.

Anyway, that’s it. I’m thinking about dinner. Something cheesy. With spinach.

Adventures in medical care

The hospital was actually pretty nice. My husband had a private room, there was a couch where I could sit and they served Peet’s coffee. I guess the Medicare drill is after three nights, you will most likely be moved to a Skilled Nursing Facility (pronounced sniff) if you aren’t able to go home yet.

When I told my sister-in-law, who is a retired nurse, that he was moving to a SNF, she cried.

They gave me a list, and I had about an hour to decide. I looked to see which ones were closest to our house. I Googled reviews. We got our first choice, which got glowing reviews, high medical ratings, etc. Several commenters even said the food was excellent.

I’m told they are all pretty much the same. It’s not that I made a poor choice, it’s just that, you know, it’s not the Ritz. My first reaction was something between Cuckoo’s Nest and Girl, Interrupted.

The place is packed, and they gave him a bed in a room so tiny you couldn’t even access the bathroom (shared by four people) without moving stuff around. He was in the back, by the window, but you practically had to crawl over his roommate to get to Dale.

After the shock wore off and physical therapy arrived, we began to feel better. I started schmoozing (I was in PR, after all) and the next day got him moved to a much better room with a worse roommate. Dale said it was a worthy trade.

I won’t go into the details regarding the roommate, but aside from being old and sick, he’s mean to the staff, screams about this, that and the other thing and does not have complete control of his bowels. He makes a big production when he has an “accident.” Dale thinks he does it on purpose to get attention.

As I said, it’s not really a very pleasant place to be, but it’s clean and the staff is very kind and attentive and seem to be good at what they do. We both feel like he’s in good hands. The goal is to get him to the point where he can get up on his own, get to the bathroom, etc. Then he can come home. It will most likely be three weeks, the doctor suggested.

The food is pretty awful, but then you know what food snobs we are. The meals are healthy, and there’s good variety. Dale picks at it. He’s on a normal diet, so I’m allowed to bring food, which is a pain in the ass, but he needs more than what he is willing to eat off the tray. Oh, and daily coffee service from Donna’s instead of Peet’s.

He’s in good spirits and understands it’s a long journey. All I can say is if you visit one of these facilities, you will do whatever you can to keep from ending up there. Part of the place is long-term care, and that is just heart-breaking. Some of these poor souls sit in their wheelchairs out in the hallway, snoozing or muttering to themselves. A few scream now and then.

I’m doing OK, except I wish he’d just eat the damned food. But I get it. My new best friend is ChatGPT. I had never used it before, but I love it! I’m asking about beds for downstairs when he comes home, other medical equipment, how to deal with family members … it’s incredible!

While I don’t know what my chat friend’s gender is, I’m saying it’s a her. She gave me some advice about sibling matters, and out of habit, I wrote back to thank her and let her know which path I choose. She approved of my choices and applauded my emotional intelligence.

I was texting my young friend who’s more familar with all this stuff, and I said, “I think she’s sucking up to me.” My friend said, yes, but here’s some language to put in your preferences to let her know you don’t want that.

Although I did it, I sort of liked the sucking up. I promised myself I would not upload my photo and ask my chat buddy how old I looked. Or if my bob made me look like a Republican.

Stay off ladders

I guess I will just come out and say it. On Monday, Dale fell off a ladder getting down Christmas stuff out in the garage. I was not home when it happened. He crawled inside and waited for me. For two hours, maybe longer.

When I arrived, he was lying on a small carpeted area near the entryway. I asked what happened and if I could help him up, but he said he didn’t think he could get up. I said you know I’m going to have to call 911, right?

So, that’s what I did. They came quickly, moved him to a stretcher, put him in the ambulance and away he went to the hospital. The rescue guys told me to go to the ER and tell them my husband was transferred there by ambulance, and they would tell me where to go.

We spent a few hours in the ER. The doctor said it was good news, bad news. He did not break a hip, but he broke his pelvis. He fell off the bottom rung and went straight down onto his butt, so there were no head injuries or any other problems.

The doctor said sometimes people walk out of there the same night. That would not be the case for Dale. He was in a little pain just lying down, but he could not bear putting any weight on it at all.

He was admitted to the hospital Monday night. He’s in good spirits, but it’s very hard for him to stand up or walk. A physical therapist and an occupational therapist have been working with him, and they said he’s doing better than most, that it’s just a matter of time.

Today they will transfer him to a skilled nursing facility for additional rehab. He will be there until he can come home. Maybe a week, maybe two weeks, maybe more. We just don’t know. I do know he can’t come home at this point.

We live in a two-story house, and our bedroom is upstairs. I’m waiting until he gets to the new place to find out what he is going to need. My general plan is to get some kind of a bed and put it in what used to be a downstairs bedroom. We converted it to a walk-in pantry, but there’s room for a bed. There’s also a small bathroom right next to it with a walk-in shower, grab bars, etc.

I guess that’s it. It’s all very stressful, but what can you do? I did blow up on my sister, who isn’t a doctor but plays one on the Internet. I apologized immediately and that night decided I need to bring my best self to this party. Stay calm, stay strong.

As you know, I had cancer twice. The first involved three surgeries, six months of chemo and lots of recovery time. Dale was there for me for both cancers, but that first one was particularly tough. He was my rock, and I need to be his.

The neighbors have been fantastic, and that’s a big help. The kitty misses his daddy, although he never budged from his upstairs nap to see what was going on when his main man was in the fetal position downstairs. Just saying. A dog might have been there for him.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Stay off ladders!

Never surrender

It seems I’ve been in a bit of a funk. Aside from watching all that is good and decent in America being crushed by soulless rat bastards, my traitorous left shoulder joined the party, and all things combined, it just seemed like there was no way up.

Not that I always need to be right, but I “suggested” to medical professionals back in March that I might have frozen shoulder. Don’t ask me to explain what it is. It’s a thing. They also call it adhesive capsulitis. I had it in my right shoulder shortly after my mastectomy in 2015, so I am somewhat familiar with the symptoms.

They all agreed I did not have frozen shoulder. I asked about getting a cortisone shot, and they said no, it most likely wouldn’t help whatever might be wrong with me, if only they knew, but since it’s not frozen shoulder, I should stick with physical therapy.

I did as I was told for close to six months, although I didn’t see much improvement. The PT said it would take a year of hard work. I’m like, fine, bring it on. I couldn’t get back in to see the sports medicine doctor until late January, but I could ride it out until then. I could still play golf, so it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then I couldn’t play golf. I no longer had a swing and couldn’t strike the ball properly. It’s like my shoulder was, oh, I don’t know … frozen?

I brought it up at my annual physical, and the doctor said we probably ought to get an MRI. That’s done, and the results are in. You might be surprised to learn I have frozen shoulder. She referred me back to the sports doctor, who still couldn’t see me until late January, but they got me an appointment with one of his colleagues.

He said, oh! Frozen shoulder! You need a cortisone shot! You could have gotten this earlier, you know.

I got the shot last week, and it really is a pre-Christmas miracle. I can play golf. I can sleep on that side. It still hurts a little, but it’s mostly gone. One shot fixed me last time, and I’m hopeful that will be the case this time around. Now that I’ve had it in both shoulders, I’d like to think I’m done.

Which brings me back to watching democracy rot from within. I don’t know what to do. Part of me just wants to pretend it isn’t happening, but the other part of me says bad things happen when good people stay quiet. I know a lot of good people read this blog, so I suspect you ruminate on this as well.

I quit writing for a few weeks because I just sort of felt like, what’s the point? But I think the point for me personally and for all of us struggling with the political landscape is to never surrender. Do what you can, but don’t torment yourself. Focus on simple pleasures.

I’m no pundit, but I think it’s important that everyday people say what needs to be said. That means I will continue to stand up for liberal values and share my thoughts on what it’s like to be an American right now, because I’m a writer at heart, and that’s what writers do. They write about what torments them.

But I am also hoping to find my sense of humor again – I think it took a sabbatical shortly after the last presidential election. In the meantime, I hope a little commentary along with food and books and movies is somehow entertaining or comforting. We’re all here trying to live our lives as best we can, and maybe it helps to know you are not alone in your anger, sadness or confusion. 

That’s why God made cookies, and that’s what I am making today. I’m gonna turn on some music and maybe even dance in the kitchen.

Zoomies for bakers

My back is better. While the exercises don’t keep it from occasionally acting up, I recover much quicker since I’ve been doing them. I call that a win. It’s kind of sad in a way, I mean, what happened to that daredevil who could do anything, but I now think of building and maintaining strength as one of my most important retirement jobs. I can feel a difference going up and down the stairs, which is a low bar, but it’s important!

Something about the light in September changes how I feel about food. Even though it’s still quite warm here in Northern California, I’m thinking about the end of summer and the beginning of fall food. Such a beautiful transition.

This week I got the bakies – not unlike the zoomies, when our pets sprint about the house like circus animals on speed.

There are those who would say baking is bad. Cookies won’t make America healthy again! Yes, even when it comes to what we eat, it seems like everyone is fired up about this, that or the other thing. While Dale and I eat little to no processed food, we kind of give ourselves a free pass if we make it at home. Good food is pure pleasure.

And cookies might make America happy again.

While others may be spurning sugar or gluten, we say bring it on. In moderation, of course. We like to keep a batch of homemade cookies in the freezer. That’s usually a toss-up between peanut butter chocolate chip or black pepper cookies. I wanted to try something different, so I went with these iced oatmeal cookies from the NY Times.

I tweaked them by adding one-half cup dried cherries. I wanted sour cherries, but all I could find was sweet, so that’s what I went with. I also added orange rind to the icing, along with a little of the freshly squeezed juice from the orange, a pinch of Kosher salt and a tablespoon of Jack Daniels.

Oh, hell, yes.

It’s not beef tallow, but dag, these cookies are good. Dale and I each had one after dinner that night. I enjoyed another one the next day and then they went straight to the freezer. But it makes me happy to know they are there. Not as happy as I would be to see RFK Jr. voted off the island but happy enough.

Then I went with the original plum torte, also from the NY Times. You can find it here if you can’t get past the NY Times firewall.

I first had something similar to this in Germany, where they called it Zwetschgenkuchen. We usually start to see the Italian prune plums in late August or early September, so this is the time to make it if you can find them.

One version of the recipe called for 1 cup of sugar, and one called for three-fourths cup. I went with three-fourths. I also questioned whether the plums should go face down or face up. The recipe called for face down, so that’s what I went with. 

The torte is absolutely delicious and even better the next day as those juices slowly drip into the cake. I froze most of it in individual servings, just as I do with scones. Sometimes I like a sweet baked treat for breakfast, so this should be right up my alley.

My next baking dilemma is whether I will make my own birthday cake, as I’ve done for the past few years. Coconut layered cake is my usual, and it is pretty effing spectacular. Another go-to is the cake I typically make for Dale’s birthday. I didn’t make it this year, so this would be my mulligan.

A friend gave me the recipe many years ago. I love that it’s in her handwriting. That always makes a recipe special. She called it Creole Chocolate Cake. It’s two layers of chocolate sponge. Between the layers is a pile of freshly whipped cream topped with a gooey mixture of walnuts, dates, evaporated milk and sugar, almost like a praline. Then the whole cake is iced with a frosting made from melted semi-sweet chocolate and sour cream.

As I write this, I believe I’ve made my decision. We know who’s dish is on the chopping block.

Kids, don’t try this at home

I will be 70 in a couple of weeks, and I’ll just say this. It’s not getting any easier.

As you may recall, I am religious about my strengthening exercises. I timed my routine the other day, and it takes me about an hour to do them all. Some days it feels like a lifetime, so I was surprised. An hour? That’s not too much to ask.

I’ve made incredible progress in the 17 months I’ve been at it, and I got a little carried away this week showing Dale how good I am at squats. Admittedly, this was after a couple of beers and The Clash blasting on the turntable.

Let me be the first to tell you party squats are never a good idea. Kids, don’t try this at home.

Everything seemed OK, but the next morning I was loading the dishwasher and pow! My back went out. It’s not too terrible, but I’m taking a week off from golf and trying to remember gentle is good.

I picked a perfect week to be stupid, as we are headed for several days of triple-digit weather.

What I’m Watching

I just finished The Hunting Wives on Netflix. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen anywhere. A nice Boston girl moves to Texas with her husband and gets mixed up with a secretive group of wealthy women with guns.

Sleazy beyond compare, the husbands make money but are otherwise worthless, the women are vicious (although very much enjoying sex with each other) and the scene featuring one of the male-female couples having their version of sex still haunts me. Some things I just didn’t need to know.

While no one would compare this to Masterpiece Theatre, I found it strangely addictive. There’s a murder mystery in the midst of all that sex, and our poor Boston girl is somehow caught up in the middle of all that, so it’s not just about the kink.

The end was a complete shocker, and there’s something to be said for the art of surprise.

Next up was The Thursday Murder Club, which premiered on Netflix this week. I didn’t know at first it was a movie not a series. It was OK but a miss, I think, and not nearly as funny as the books. The author’s descriptions and observations were so witty, and his unique humor didn’t translate to the screen.

It’s hard to say if it’s the writing, casting or acting – but none of the characters hit home with me. The whole thing just made me want to re-read the books.

I also started season six of Unforgotten on PBS. I do love PBS, but for some reason, it doesn’t show that I watched season five, so it was quite the hassle to figure out where I was in the series. Back in the old days, we got one season a year, which was easy enough for this old-timer.

That said, I do love the streaming options we have today, so no more complaining from me.

What I’m Eating

Dale roasted a whole chicken this week. One of my favorites. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t care all that much for fried chicken. Give me a roasted bird any day. All plump and juicy with crispy golden brown skin and succulent meat.

We always go for the leg quarters on the first night, mostly because the breast meat is better for leftovers. Dale used up most of the white meat the next night on a batch of chicken tortilla soup, and half of that went in the freezer.

All is well with the world when you have good back-up soup.

We ate the chicken with broccoli and his New England-style stuffing, which is made with ground potatoes, onions, bread and seasonings. It sounds odd, but it’s quite delicious. He puts it in the bird. Same with Thanksgiving turkey.

I made Slow Cooker Tomato Lentil Soup from the NY Times. They promoted it as a summer soup, since it uses fresh tomatoes, and I would concur. It was like the best tomato basil bisque you’ve ever had. The red lentils pretty much dissolve but add heft and flavor to the base.

The comments are always interesting in the NY Times food app. Quite a few people didn’t want to use heavy cream. Jeez, I lust for heavy cream. Some substituted coconut milk, which I also love, but I didn’t want to change the flavor profile. The only change I made was to double the garlic.

I was going to make Brown Butter Skillet Corn Bread to accompany the soup, but I saw a half a cup of maple syrup and decided it was too sweet for our taste. Instead, I made our old standby blue corn muffins. Blue corn has a delicious earthy taste, and I believe it’s actually a little better for you than yellow cornmeal.

Recipes abound on the Internet, but you might have to resort to Amazon to get the blue corn meal. I get stone-ground blue cornmeal for the muffins but blue corn masa for tortillas.

I also made tuna noodle casserole. Such a flashback but still worthy after all these years. Mine is from Valerie Bertinelli. I have a few modifications. I add garlic, celery, peas and two cans of oil-packed tuna instead of one. She calls for medium shells, but I use large. Valerie also likes flavored potato chips as the topping, but I use plain.

This time I used Gibble’s, a brand we love from Pennsylvania. Dale gets them in the mail. He’s quite serious about his chips. These are fried in lard. If there’s such a thing as a lard-based potato chip in your local store, I say go for it.

The casserole was yum and four servings made it to the freezer. We have the best freezer food.

What I’m Reading

I’ve been on the waiting list at the library for The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. I just got it yesterday, but I started it and like it so far. It’s a sci-fi murder mystery and Hugo award finalist, so I have high hopes.

Weirder than normal

I’ve been feeling weirder than normal, which is saying something.

It started with a jaw ache. I mentioned it during my regular visit to the dentist and after x-rays and all that, he said nothing looked amiss. Then he asked if I was clenching my teeth. I said probably. Lots to clench about these days.  

He fitted me for a mouth guard to wear as I clench my way through the night. I pick it up next week. When I mentioned it to Dale, he said that might explain why his jaw hurts. It looks like we’re in this together. ‘Til death do us clench.

Then I was reading about the new Republican ideal woman. Thin, white, obsessed with healthy eating. Geez, that sounds a lot like me, with some obvious omissions on the healthy part. But my hair could pass for Republican. It scared me at first, but I’m not surrendering in advance. They can take my bob when they pry it out of my cold dead hands.

Fortunately, I realized it doesn’t matter anyway. The thin, white, Republican women they were talking about are young. Uterus-forward. Having babies, they hope. Childless cat ladies of a certain age are already off the radar for anyone who cares what women look like. And you know what? I’m good with that. I’ll just ride this whole thing out under cover of agedness.

Let’s see. Oh, pop culture. It turns out everything I know is dead.

On the bright side, I’ve been trying to be more sociable and had a tiny win this week. As an introvert, I’m terrible at chit-chat and just want to be alone with my puzzles. I went back to the basics and asked a question. Several of us were relaxing after golf, and someone mentioned music. I said, “What was the best concert you ever attended?”

That started a fun conversation, and one of the women said and I quote, “Great question!” See? Now we’re talking positive feedback. You, too, can improve your social skills with one quick lesson from Retirement Confidential. Call now for this exclusive offer!

The other weird thing is my car. Sometimes on the way to golf, I eat a PBJ burrito – peanut butter and jelly rolled up burrito-style in a small flour tortilla. I got gunk all over my hand and my cute white skort one day and assumed some of the jelly squirted out as I was eating. I wiped up what I could.

But then it happened again, and while I did not do a taste test, I realized it was not jelly at all. That’s the good news. I can eat and drive. But it appears some sort of adhesive is bubbling up through the center console. I dropped the car off at the dealership this morning, and the service guy gave me the side eye. Like, seriously, lady? I have to waste my time on this?

He said they would take a look at it, but he wasn’t sure what they could do. I said I don’t know a lot about cars, but I imagine you could remove the console, clean up the mess, apply new adhesive and replace the console. He said probably.

For backup, I was prepared to say, “I’m sorry, but the car is less than two years old, and I’m new to sticky substances bubbling up through my ride.” My backup backup is for when they try and charge me for all this. That’s when I’ll be ready with, “Oh, toxic messes leaking from the console is considered normal wear and tear?”

I’m hoping we won’t have to go there.    

So, Substack. I have to say something about Substack. I started reading The Contrarian on Substack after Jennifer Rubin left the Washington Post. That led me to Robert Reich, Paul Krugman and Heather Cox Richardson, who are reputable writers with important content I’m not seeing in the mainstream media.

Nothing wrong with Substack, per se. But there are also lots of people you’ve never heard of pumping conspiracy theories that are sometimes consistent with my world view. And I’m like, oh, goodie, that explains it. I want more! Except you don’t know who or what to believe. Now I understand how people get sucked into this sort of thing.

I had been thinking of either switching to Substack for this blog or at least sharing some of my content on the platform. Even though there’s some high-quality reporting to be found, the feed (Substack Notes) is no better than Facebook, X or any of the other social media sites. As I see it, there’s really no way to filter out misinformation.

I’ll still read the stuff I read – but after clenching my way through several nights, I decided I’m not going to play in that sandbox.

Weirder Than Normal. That could be my legacy. The leading candidate is currently She Tried Hard.  

Tune out the noise

As soon as I said I would just keep writing, I just stopped writing. Life is weird. You heard it here first.

One of my issues is that I self-censor. I think, this is bad or this is boring or this is too political or whatever, but I am going to try harder to tune out the noise and just say what I have to say. Some posts won’t resonate with some readers, and that’s OK. Most of you keep coming back!

The other issue is that I am distraught over what is happening in our country, and sometimes it feels like a choking haze that affects every aspect of my life. It’s death by a thousand cuts. We feel some impacts immediately, but others will unfold over time … the attack on education, medicine and science, climate change denial. This is the legacy these people want to leave their children and grandchildren?

In spite of it all, I am fine and happy to be standing upright. About 26 years ago, I survived cancer with roughly a 30 percent chance of living five years. I later wrote a piece called, Cancer in My Pocket. You can read the whole thing here, but the gist of it is in these words:

Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.

So, yes, I’ve been digging around in my pockets, where I usually find used tissues, but that’s another story. I’ve been so disappointed in the Supreme Court, but I was excited to see a federal judge navigate through the rulings and find a way to at least temporarily stop the assault on birthright citizenship. Although it doesn’t seem like the courts will save us, they just might.  

In other news, Dale, at age 76, was diagnosed with psoriasis. He’s blaming Trump. Well, the stress induced by Trump. May as well, since Biden gets blamed for everything else.

It’s a miserable ailment, and he was not a happy camper. Fortunately, the flare-up has passed but geez, you’d think he was the first guy who ever had an itchy spot. And then there’s his complete lack of experience with moisturizing. Seriously, it’s not that hard. Anyway, now I know what they mean by the heartbreak of psoriasis.  

My achy breaky body parts are doing reasonably well. Every morning is like roll call.

Knees?

Here!

Back?

Here!

Shoulder?

Present!

There’s always a joker in the midst. The shoulder is my new loudmouth, but I’m committed to getting through this. My knees are the best they’ve been in decades, and that took more than a year of dedicated physical therapy. Now I’ve got a slew of shoulder exercises, and I truly believe eventually I will have a stronger more resilient body that can hold up to the pressures I put on it.

With the knees feeling so good, you may remember I talked about doing a multi-day walk. I was getting all excited going down that rabbit hole, when it occurred to me I might just relax and enjoy normal activity without knee pain. What a concept!

All in all, it is hard to watch our country slide down the shame spiral … I mean, masked federal agents? Who thinks that’s OK? But we still have life, and it is a beautiful thing. Now if Trump is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, then we know everything, absolutely everything is rigged.

Maybe I got it wrong. I’ll bet it’s the Nobel Pizza Prize. That would make more sense. I’m sure he eats his share.

Trigger points

Just a little question for other bloggers … are you getting AI comments? Mine go straight to the spam folder, but the first one looked so real I unspammed it and responded. Then I started getting more, so I now just delete them.

The level of detail is quite amazing. Sort of like my best friend commenting on every single thought I shared in the post and asking probing questions to stimulate dialogue. If that really is you best friend, I apologize for comparing you to artificial intelligence.

This is probably why I was never popular.

I’ve had some promising news on the creaky body parts countdown to eternity. As background, I exercise, stretch and strengthen religiously, but I still have a multitude of issues. I suppose it’s age, but I also wonder if my cancer history plays a role. No estrogen since 1999, and I believe that contributes to musculoskeletal problems. But hey, I’m alive, so yay!

I used to say I had three areas that needed constant attention – knees, back and wrists. I’ve been in physical therapy for about 15 months, and we’ve made excellent progress on all three.

But then my shoulder and arm started bothering me three months ago. Simple things like putting on a sweater is excruciating, but golf is OK. I finally got in to see the sports medicine doctor, who believes the issue is trigger points in my shoulder referring pain down my arm.

I don’t completely understand it all, but I guess trigger points are muscles that knot up for various reasons, including overuse. That’s probably me. I got new golf clubs this year, and I went to the driving range way more than I typically go, and hitting off mats doesn’t help.

It seems the solution is to somehow get the trigger points to release. Massage helps. Rolling up against a tennis ball – anything that puts pressure on those knots. I’ve also been doing a slew of exercises to strengthen the shoulder.

For some immediate relief, the doctor used dry needling. It sounds horrible, but I never saw the needle, and it didn’t hurt. He finds those tender spots, inserts the needle, and you can feel the muscle twitch and pulse. It’s wild. The doctor said it could be a case of one and done, but I might need to come back for a tune-up.

The shoulder and the arm are much better, but I will probably have to go back. I was afraid he was going to tell me to stop playing golf, but he said do everything you can possibly do. No restrictions. I might have some pain along the way, but as an active “aging” adult, some pain is to be expected. But he can help get it from a 7 to a 2 on the pain scale and to think of it as something that can be managed.

I like that mentality. In the absence of illness or serious injury, just keep going. I played golf two days in a row this week. I usually try to skip a day but thought, what the hell? I was no worse for the wear, but it did get a little weird.

A friend and I were paired with two women we didn’t know. One of them was decidedly unfriendly. Talk about trigger points! She made everything harder than it had to be, and it was frustrating.

As we reached our final hole, she looked us dead in the eye and said, “This is the last hole.” We’re like, yeah, OK, sure. Then she said it again is this creepy Grim Reaper voice.

“This is the last hole.”

My friend looked up and said, “Ever?”

I cannot stop laughing about that. Seriously, I have tears in my eyes right now.

And on that note, I leave you with fresh cherry scones with lime drizzle.

My physical therapy journey

This month marks a year since I started physical therapy. I thought I’d share the highlights of my journey … you know, just in case your body isn’t functioning as advertised. If physical therapy is an option, this might help you weigh the pros and cons.

I originally started physical therapy after several bouts of debilitating sciatica, presumably caused by spinal stenosis. Other body parts soon cried out for attention, and my PT helped me work through those issues as well. Medicare is my primary insurance, and Tricare for Life is my secondary. Other than deductibles, I have paid zero out-of-pocket expenses.

When I first started, I went weekly. Since then, I’ve averaged twice a month. During my 30-minute visit, we review my home exercise program, and the PT uses manual therapy to treat whatever hurts the most that day.  

My home program started with exercises to strengthen my core. There’s no universal prescription, but my routine includes dead bugs, forearm planks, Pallof holds and slow sit-ups using a resistance band to help get me up and down. It takes about an hour to complete them all, and I usually do them every other day. It’s a commitment.

It took about six weeks of regular exercise to feel any difference, but I’ve had very little back or leg pain since. I had one flare-up around Christmas, but it only lasted a couple of days. Early in my treatment, he massaged the glutes to relieve sciatic pain, but my back has been remarkably responsive to the exercise regime.

My other bad actors are knees and wrists. We shall start with wrists. I broke both of them about 15 years ago, and they haven’t been the same since. I’ve had tests and seen specialists, and the only thing they found is thumb arthritis.

I usually wear thumb braces at night, and they help a lot. My PT also massages my wrists and the base of my thumb, and that is hugely helpful. I try to copy his technique between visits. One of the exercises for my back also helps my wrists, and that is the marching carry. I do high-step marches around the house for a few minutes with my arms hanging down but carrying 8-pound weights. I started with 5-pounds and am working my way up.

My wrists are better. I just have to be careful – it’s easy to over-do an exercise and go back to square one.

Both knees have been abused for many years overdoing it in sports activities, but the right one is mostly OK. The left one hurts a lot, and we’ve spent months working on some relief. We started with lunges and squats to strengthen the quadriceps, and that was working well. By September, I had graduated to leg extensions on the machines. But it was too much, and my knee went batshit crazy.

I am no stranger to pain, so believe me when I say this was bad. But there was no popping or anything like that. Just intense burning pain that would come on fast and then go away. The doctor ordered an MRI, which shows cartilage damage and a possible meniscus tear, but the she said that could be degenerative and not necessarily an acute injury.

The worst of the pain was gone by late November. I was back to whatever passes for normal by the beginning of the year, so the PT put me back on leg extensions but this time at home first using no weights at all and then adding 2.5-pound weights. I just increased to 5-pound weights, and so far, so good.

This is the best my knees have felt in a long, long time. As I’ve read about chronic knee pain, you  have to think of it as “cartilage time.” Nothing happens fast. My PT wants me to keep working with the ankle weights with a long-term plan to go eventually back to the machines. I suspect lunges and squats are in my future as well.

I was thinking today – geez – what’s this weird feeling? Oh, yeah, my body feels pretty good! It has not been a perfect journey. That little setback with my knees was brutal, and I wanted to give up. But I knew quitting wasn’t going to get me out of this hole. I did not want to be hobbling around on bad knees forever if I could do anything about it. I saw the solution as a matter of patience and persistence.

And that’s my final thought if you are considering physical therapy. It’s not a spa. You have to make yourself do these damn exercises, but the results for me have been worth it. I’m active … walking, swimming and playing golf, sometimes with a little pain and sometimes not, but I’m still active. The only thing I take for pain is the occasional Advil and have so far avoided surgery.

If this is as good as it gets, I’ll take it, but I am hopeful continuing PT will bring further improvement. I keep joking with the PT that I’ll be 70 in September — he’s got until then to get me fixed up. Maybe it’s crazy talk, but I want to start my 70s feeling strong.