Category: Health & Wellness

Managing chronic pain

According to the neurosurgeon, most of my back problems are typical age-related degeneration. I have one disc bulge that is squeezing the spine (if I’m even saying that correctly). Basically, the result is spinal stenosis. He said that’s why I have pain in my lower buttocks. Hey, but ask Dale. He already knew I was a pain in the ass.

The neurosurgeon said I was way better off than most people with this degree of stenosis. He attributed my good fortune to physical fitness and encouraged me to keep doing whatever I’m doing. I was happy to hear I can still walk, swim and play golf, and even happier to hear him say it’s unlikely I’d ever need surgery. That’s good, because after multiple cancer surgeries, I have already fulfilled my surgical obligations.

In the meantime, I’ve been working on the mind-body connection. I started with Healing Back Pain by John Sarno. He believed repressed emotions cause most chronic pain, but other than understanding that concept and accepting it, he didn’t offer much in the way of advice.

Dr. Sarno was seen as a bit of a quack in his day, but there’s new research that vindicates him. It seems lots of medical professionals now believe chronic pain starts and ends in the brain – you just have to work a bit at reprogramming your physical responses to emotions such as anger, fear, shame and guilt.

After reading some of the newer articles like this one, I signed up for a program at Curable. There are all sorts of brain exercises and training modules to help navigate through chronic pain. Within a couple of weeks, I was virtually pain-free.

Then out of the blue, it cranked up again. There’s an emergency section of the app for when you have a flare-up, and it walks you through some ideas to help get you back on track. I thought I had dealt with all my emotional baggage and couldn’t imagine what was left.

After doing the module this morning, I’ve discovered a few more unresolved issues. Nothing big – she says – just the granddaddy of them all. Who am I? Why am I here? How much time to I have on this Earth, and what should I do with it?

I never really thought about those sorts of things when I was busy earning a living. It was just grind, grind, grind, and in retrospect, there’s something to be said for that mode of existence. In retirement, I have the pleasure of waking up in the middle of the night to engage in existential discussions with myself. But at least I can sleep in.

As long as I’m moving, I’m fine. Sitting is the worst. What else do I do when I sit? Why, write, of course. Since I haven’t written anything in a couple of weeks, I’m wondering if there’s a connection.

As I try to get rid of this butt ache, which is really, I think, an aching for knowledge, wisdom, value or purpose, choose one or all of the above, it would seem I have some work to do. I’ve decided that’s OK.

I try not to think of life as a game to win or lose. Things seem to work better for me when I forget about being MVP and just show up for practice.

P.S. If you’re looking for some great reading featuring a strong (and I mean badass) female protagonist, I highly recommend the Jane Whitefield series by Thomas Perry. Jane is a Native American who helps people disappear when bad guys are after them. Vanishing Act is first in the series. And joy of joys, there are nine of them!

I coulda been somebody!

While I don’t miss work, I confess early into my retirement I missed feeling important. Being a director for a large corporation was demanding. Once you got to that level, the company wanted everything you had but taunted us with money and perks to keep people like me crawling back for more.

After a while, you start to think you’re somebody.

Then you join the long list of retirees who used to have big jobs, and you realize no one cares about your glory days. I needed a new mindset, and as I was looking for answers, I stumbled upon this quote in an online forum:    

“We were never the somebody we thought. And we are never the nobody we fear.”

For me, that kind of says it all.

Double shot

Yesterday, I got my flu shot and COVID booster at the same time – one in each arm. I didn’t have any problems with the COVID vaccines first time around, but I have a history of fever and chills after getting the flu shot. I used to pre-medicate with Tylenol several days in advance, and that put an end to the chilly willies.

However, I’ve since read you’re not supposed to do that, since they don’t really know how it affects the vaccines. So, I toughed it out, and sure enough, I got fever and chills. Quite the miserable night, but it passed pretty quickly. Both arms are still sore, but I managed to play a little golf today.

COVID has completely stressed me out. I know – take a number, but I believe I’ve been unnecessarily paranoid. Now that I’m boosted and the case rates are going down here in California, I’m going to try hard to lighten up. We still haven’t been to a restaurant, even for outside dining.

Part of the problem is we’re kind of spoiled by our own home cooking, and most restaurants just aren’t that good. Still, a diversion would be nice. The weather is lovely, so maybe we can get our butts out the door and try someone else’s food.

Great British Baking Show

Speaking of food, I am finally getting into the Great British Baking Show. I can’t imagine what took me so long, but I love it. The baking is fantastic, of course, but as a Britophile, I also like the cast of characters.

I’m still watching the first season, so I have lots of shows in the queue. One of the first things I want to try is Mary Berry’s treacle tart.

A fluted tart pan with a removable bottom has been on my wish list for quite some time, and mine arrived today. Don’t you love it when a plan comes together? However, I don’t want to get in the trap of making sweets all the time, so I want to try a savory tart first. Or even a quiche. I’ve always made quiche in a regular pie pan, but the tart version just looks so inviting.

Cucko for coconut

We are still raving about the coconut layer cake I made for my birthday. Individual pieces are stowed safely in the freezer, but it seems someone has been eating them.

Dale said it is the best cake he’s ever had, and I have to agree. I called it the Thrilla in Manila. I mean, I know that’s a famous boxing match, but I just think it’s fun to say. And it could describe cake, right?

He said, no. It’s the Thrilla with Vanilla!

Sometimes it takes very little to amuse us.

Smoke gets in your eyes

The Caldor fire is about 40 miles to the east of us and moving further east, which is good for us but not good for Tahoe. The winds shifted yesterday, and while the fire is still moving in the other direction, our air quality has taken a turn for the worse.

I’m learning to accept the realities of living in a state that burns, but it’s hard when there is so much beauty to behold, and you can’t even go outside. The fires are life-threatening for some, but for us they are mostly inconvenient and just plain scary.

The smoke stresses me. I took the top picture first thing this morning, and it was creepy not to even see the hills above our house. The wind shifted yet again, and later you could see the hills. The Sago palm is in both pictures, but you can only see it in the bottom one. I immediately felt better when the air started to clear. I think it’s a primal reaction.

Fortunately, there is plenty to keep me amused inside. We’re out of cookies, and we can’t have that. I’m whipping up a batch of our go-to cookies with peanut butter, chocolate chips and sea salt. I’ll probably play some Wii golf on our vintage system.

I used to talk bad to the Wii when things didn’t go my way, but I found out there’s no modern substitute that replicates the motions of golf, so I made nice with the damned thing to ensure it doesn’t talk to the other appliances and quit on us.

Playing Wii golf helps me with the mental side of real golf. I practice visualization, staying calm no matter what and lowering expectations. I’ve written before about my fear of competition, but I forced myself to play in the women’s club championship this year. While I didn’t play my best golf, I held steady and finished tied for sixth overall.

Playing and not choking was a big step forward for me. I’m sure others in my group were feeling sorry for me, as I did mess up a few holes and can certainly score better under ideal conditions, but I couldn’t be happier that I pretty much held it together over three rounds – the format was best two out of three.  

Have you thought about what you fear and whether you should push yourself in that direction?

Learning to manage my expectations with golf is helping me manage fear and loathing in a more general sense. As I said earlier in the week, it’s all about showing up. I stress about the attempted recall of California’s governor, Afghanistan, drought, fires, smoke and COVID, but I’m also choosing to read less about it, and that helps.

When all else fails, stick your head in the sand.

Dale and I talked about what it’s like to live here now, and we’re not ready to bail. I can’t think of a place that doesn’t have some sort of natural disaster looming. It seems to me we’re all going to have to accept climate change is here, and it’s going to alter our lifestyles. So, we adjust and keep going.

We live in a suburban area, and while anything is possible, we figure a forest fire is unlikely to impact us directly. There’s a lot of asphalt between us and the woods. I’ve taken to looking out the window in the morning to a) see if there are any dead bodies in the pool; and b) see if there are any fire balls rolling down the hills.

Even if the fire did start charging down the hill toward us, we would have time to evacuate. That’s how I settle my mind. If the house goes, the house goes.

Then you’ve got excessive heat, power outages. One thing we are considering is a standby generator. If we’re going to live in a fortress, we may as well fortify the fortress so as to live in the style to which we have become accustomed.

We’ve been debating the advantages and disadvantages of a portable rig versus a unit that hooks up to our natural gas supply. The portable rigs are less expensive but not exactly cheap, and then you have to deal with extension cords and all that. I’m thinking, we’re getting older, and we’d be better off with a built-in standby system.

We haven’t called for quotes yet, but our climate is such that we could live without air conditioning or heat for a couple of days. A small unit that powers the refrigerators and maybe a few creature comforts might be all we need.

If all goes well and we continue to take good care of ourselves, I believe we could last another 25 years or so, even with all the bad craziness. However, I’ve decided if I’m here for the finish, I’m going out with a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. Perhaps with a chaser of Frosted Flakes.

A change is gonna come

Number 22, a gift for my sister, who just retired. Congratulations, Cheryl!

I woke up the other morning thinking, “I should get a job.” I used to like people. Maybe I could learn to like them again.

Yes! I could quit using cannabis, pass a drug test and get back in the workstream. I’ve read there’s a shortage of employees. Except I haven’t read anything about trying to lure back the 50 and 60-somethings they drove out in favor of snappy young talent. So, there’s that.

Oh, and then dealing with all those problematic young people. They are in charge now, and I liked it better the other way around.

I suppose I’d be the new troublemaker, asking for all sorts of special accommodations. You know I can’t sit in a regular chair for hours on end. And such ridiculous expectations. Forty hours a week, seriously? I could maybe squeeze in some Spider Solitaire, but when would I have time to swim, cook, walk, play golf, take naps, stretch or work on my art?

Clearly, a desk job is out of the question. Not good for my health.

Then I thought, I could be a budtender! I could get some training online and apply for a job at a dispensary. I imagined myself, silver hair flowing, adorned in turquoise jewelry, imparting sage cannabis wisdom.

Except being a budtender is a fancy name for working retail. Horrible hours and crummy pay. Sometimes they want you to work at night! What about dinner????? Not to mention whiny customers, and that’s kind of a deal-breaker for me. Any filters I may have had in the past are gone. It’s like retirement truth serum. Now I just say what I think, and I assure you, it won’t be good for sales.

The truth is, I love retirement. Time and freedom is a hard-earned gift, and I have no interest in going backward. My guess is the job idea is more about the ongoing isolation of COVID. Maybe a subconscious yearning for pre-pandemic life?

Except it will be post-pandemic life. Something new, different, maybe better in some ways. I mean, why not? An uncertain future, for sure, but with any luck we’ll still be here to explore it.

I’m ready.

Lest we get too judgy

Number 21 — my latest creation of wood-burned art embellished with color.

Repurposing career clothes

Although I did experiment here and here with repurposing some of my career wardrobe, I quickly lost interest. I don’t dress that way anymore, basically living out of one laundry basket full of casual and athletic wear.

And yet … I’ve decided to keep what’s left – a jacket, a suit, a few skirts and a pair of slacks. At least for a little while longer. Reasons, in no particular order:

  1. I’ve pared it down to just a few pieces anyway, so it’s no big deal to keep them hanging in the closet.
  2. The pandemic has probably changed career fashion forever. I don’t think my style will be popular with anyone but me.
  3. All the charities I checked want larger sizes, and I don’t want to bother with consignment.
  4. They fit well and look good on me. Sometimes lacking other options, you have to wear your confidence.
  5. It’s more fun to dress up when it’s not 100 degrees. Fall is just around the corner.
  6. These are not normal times, and you never know what will happen. Post-pandemic renaissance? Apocalypse? I might need nice clothes.

The joy of movement

I visited the physical therapist, and all in all, it went well. I have some nits to pick about the process, but I heard what I wanted to hear. Basically, she said I have good mobility and should continue to do everything I want to do in terms of golf, swimming, stretching, walking and weights. With regard to osteoporosis, she said to avoid jumping and jarring movements but otherwise keep moving. Her team can help me with strength and balance.

They stretched out my problematic left buttocks area and decorated it with Kinesio tape, which presumably helps with muscle pain and inflammation. I must say it seems to be working! They put the tape on while I’m face down in the “child’s pose.” Of course, I can’t put the tape on myself, so I had Dale take a picture of me in case we need to replicate. He took the picture, but I’m not sure he’s on board with taping me. It’s not like I’m asking him to shoot an apple off my head.

I played golf twice, and I could definitely feel the burn, but I think it was just the normal aches and pains of returning to exercise after a 10-day rest. I tried to take it easy, forget about the score and feel the joy of movement. I will try swimming today.

Note to fellow retirees – be gentle but move as much as you can as often as you can. Mobility goes away quickly and is difficult to recover.

The limitations of movement

Movement is one of the reasons I don’t outsource housework. I do most of it, but Dale does make significant contributions to our efforts. The balance inside the home isn’t really an issue, but I did talk with him about adding some additional chores to his list. He’s always cooperative, but it annoys me that I have to spell it out for him.

Yardwork is a different story. This is where the limitations of movement are hitting home. I tend to be a workhorse, and as I always joke, Dale likes to put on a clean shirt and go bye-bye in the car. For the record, he does laugh when I say that!

Our neighborhood association maintains the front yard. We don’t have a huge backyard, and the pool takes up most of it. Dale has always said it wasn’t worth the money to hire someone to mow and blow such a small area. Especially since I ended up doing it most of the time. But there’s also pruning – and in previous years, that also fell to me.

Newly armed with spunk and MRI results, I said that time is gone. Beyond mow and blow, count me out. Shortly after my proclamation, he actually mowed and edged. I didn’t even know he knew how to use the edger. In the spirit of cooperation, I got out the blower and cleaned up. See how nice it is when we work together?

Message received. It went in one ear, stayed there and didn’t go out the other.

That means I’m shopping for some sort of landscape service. Although it’s not a big financial commitment, my first thought was I’ll start collecting Social Security later this year, and I could just pay for it from that account.

But my second thought was no way – why is it my responsibility? I know he truly doesn’t care who pays for it, he’s like yeah, whatever you want, but I remember all those bags of yard waste from last year, and my less kind self wants to see him cough up some cash. Reparations, if you will.

Oh, shit, this is bad

Lest we get too judgy in our aging years, Dale announced this morning he couldn’t find his keys, which include both house, car and mailbox. We looked everywhere, including the neighborhood mailbox, because he has left them there before.

Alas, no keys.

My smug self was thinking I would keep the mailbox key separate so as to avoid such a situation. But that’s me. Then I went down the path of we’re getting older, him especially, and this is likely to happen more often. Lost things. Kitchen fires. Who knows? From there, I plummeted to, “He’s got dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.”

We went to a few doors asking if anyone picked up keys from the mailbox. Nothing. One neighbor was like, oh, shit, this is bad, and I said, indeed, I’m trying not to be judgmental. Another neighbor said to check with the Homeowner’s Association – people sometimes turn in lost items. Dale tried calling, and a recording said they were closed. I said, “Well, let’s just drive over there and see. I’ve got my keys.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. Except they were not my keys.

Wait! These look like your keys!

They are my keys!

We both burst out laughing. Apparently, he’d left them on the counter downstairs after picking up the mail, and when I was scooping stuff up after I came home from golf, clearly exhausted from exemplary play, I thought they were mine and dropped them into my purse.

One would assume he’s now thinking, looks like Donna has dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.

Bouncing back from injury

Although I don’t bounce like I used to, I am recovered from whatever I did to myself when I fell in the bathroom. Now I’m back to whatever I’ve had for the past 10 years or so. In the absence of fractures or other potential mishaps, chronic pain never felt so good.

That means I’m back on the golf tour this week. I also want to get back to swimming and light weights. I visit the physical therapist Monday and will see what she thinks. For the most part, golf has not made my lower back pain worse, but I’m not so sure about the other two. Still, I refuse to lay flat on my back if I have a choice, so that’s that. Onward and upward.

I’m more conscious about calcium since the osteoporosis business. I do eat dairy and lots of other calcium-rich foods, but I decided to add canned sardines to my rotation. Dale has been eating them for years. I like them, especially on a Triscuit!

Do you eat sardines? I would love to hear more ideas – how to enjoy them best, any particular brands or seasonings you like. I’m not afraid to throw some money at a premium product. Although Dale is even more of a food snob than I am, sardines are sort of his bachelor food, and he just buys whatever he sees first.  

I do believe back pain is sometimes connected to our emotions, so I’ve been trying to deal with my anger about the pandemic. I tell myself, yes, I am angry it was politicized. It did not have to go down this way. I’m angry with the people who won’t get vaccinated. I’m angry we’re going back to masks again. I’m angry that it looks like this thing will drag on forever.

But that anger does not make my back hurt! My back is strong. I can do anything I want.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I finally read Victim 2117, the latest in Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Department Q series featuring Carl Mørck. I started it a couple of times but didn’t get too far. Sometimes it takes me a while to get into his books, but when I do, I love them. This one was excellent – quite the dramatic backstory of Carl’s sidekick, Assad.

As I was Googling the book so I could copy and paste the slashed o in Mørck, I discovered there are Department Q movies! Has anyone seen them? Looks like some are available on Amazon. I’ve been re-watching Outlander. I had already burned through the final season of Bosch and needed a complete distraction.

We had to cancel our trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park due to fires in the area. If it’s not one thing, it’s two. Or three. Or four.

For a little while, it felt like we had turned a corner on the virus and life was becoming whatever passes for normal these days. But it looks bad out there. In our zip code, 77 percent have been fully vaccinated, and 84 percent have at least one dose. Yet our positivity and case rates are higher than you’d expect.

Most of those testing positive in our area are between the ages of 18-49. While we’ve all been reading about breakthrough cases, I would assume most aren’t vaccinated. I can’t fix that, so I tell myself to just roll with whatever I have to roll with.

And so, we turn to happy thoughts. Dinner. We have leftover grilled tri-tip and fresh corn and tomatoes from the farmer’s market. I’m making a loaf of sourdough bread, so we’ll cobble together a meal out of that. Dale is making happy hour nachos with fresh jalapeños from his garden. Cheese is medicinal.

We have a nice stash of limes, so I might make a margarita. Have you heard of ranch water? It’s a drink. I have not had one, but I was reading about them. It sounds like a fizzy margarita. Same basic ingredients topped with seltzer water. I guess the fizz of choice is Topo Chico, which I’ve also never had.

I might have to go back to the happy hour laboratory and return to you with a complete report. It’s all about sacrifice.

Dealing with low bone density

I like good news and have happily shared my experience of surviving cancer as an inspiration to others. I’m far more reluctant to share unpleasant news, but I’ve decided it’s important to tell the whole story, not just the bits and pieces that flatter my self-image.

As a reminder, I had primary peritoneal cancer (like ovarian) and breast cancer. Both cancers were estrogen-sensitive. I had a total hysterectomy and have not had supplemental estrogen since I was 43 – about 22 years. While I knew this would put me at higher risk for low bone density, I hoped my healthy and active lifestyle would prevail.

Alas, it was not enough. According to my recent bone density test, I have osteoporosis. For me, that diagnosis comes with a lot of baggage. I don’t see myself as frail or fragile, and I don’t want to live like the slightest twitch will result in a fracture.

On top of that, I’ve done a good bit of reading and suspect osteoporosis is over-diagnosed. How a Bone Disease Grew to Fit the Prescription is an NPR article is from 2009. It’s a fascinating read about the origins of bone density testing and the role pharmaceutical companies played in shaping the definition of disease.

There was a meeting of osteoporosis “experts” in Italy, and one of their challenges was to decide what was normal aging and what wasn’t. It was hot, and they couldn’t reach consensus. Someone finally drew a line on a graph, and they said everyone on this side of the line has a disease. Then they split it up into two diseases – osteopenia and osteoporosis, depending on where you landed on the graph.

Doctors soon began pushing bisphosphonate drugs to treat low bone density. I’ve read about these medications, and I’m not primed to sign up. In addition to unpleasant short-term side effects, there are serious long-term risks and not a lot of evidence to suggest they actually reduce fractures.

My results put me just inside the line for osteoporosis. However, results come with two scores. Your “T” score compares you to an average healthy 30-year-old. Like many older women, my “T” score sucked. But you also get a “Z” score that compares you to someone of your age and gender. My “Z” score looked pretty good to me.

I mentioned this when I met with the doctor. I said, “If I’m reading this correctly, I’m in the 90th percentile for someone of my age and gender. And presumably, most of those women had estrogen, so I must be doing something right.” She said yes, but we don’t use the “Z” score to diagnose osteoporosis. I said, yes, that’s part of the racket. We both laughed.

She agreed with my proposal to wait a year and get retested before doing anything dramatic. She said compression fractures in the spine do happen to people with osteoporosis, and that’s always a risk. The doctor agreed the medications also have risks and downsides.

I asked for a referral to physical therapy so I could get some targeted exercises to help me strengthen my spine and hips. At the same time, I mentioned my back had been bothering me, and I needed to get that sorted out. She sent me for an X-ray.

The X-ray suggested the possibility of a compression fracture! I was devastated. Was I wrong about everything? Should I just bite the bullet and start the bone drugs? Will I have to quit golf forever? She sent me for an MRI.

Just to complicate things, after the X-ray but before the MRI, I slipped and fell in the bathroom. I’m OK, but my back hurts more than it did. I figured if I didn’t have a fracture before, I certainly have one now.

Imagine my surprise when the MRI revealed a messed up back with bulging discs and age-related degeneration similar to the messed up back I had when I got an MRI seven years ago. And no fractures! Even after the fall.

All in all, I’m relieved and feeling pretty good about my prospects. I’m eager to start physical therapy. And although I might regret it later, I’m still holding out on prescription meds for osteoporosis. I’ve done more reading on vitamins and have added K and A to my regime. Please know I am not an expert, nor am I suggesting these choices for anyone else because I could be completely wrong.

I think of osteoporosis as an unintended consequence of my cancer treatment, and I’m annoyed, but I’m still grateful it wasn’t a recurrence and look forward to many more years of mediocre golf.   

Another year to live!

My latest piece of art made from a scrap of wood. You can’t see it in the picture, but there’s metallic paint in the grid at the bottom, and it looks really cool as you walk by the wall where I hung it.

The condo collapse in Miami is just heartbreaking, and while condos seem like a desirable accommodation for retirees, it leaves me wondering if I would ever live in one. I’m confident there are many upsides to condo living, but I’m not liking the whole shared ownership thing.

Who is ultimately responsible? I suppose we will find out when the lawsuits roll out. I’m reminded of an old Gallagher joke: They needed a con, and they needed some dough.

Speaking of cons, I was pleased to see the Trump Organization and its CFO indicted for tax fraud. Of course, I’m just one of the little people who dutifully pays her taxes, but it’s good to see cheaters held accountable. Everyone suffers when people don’t pay their share.

I had a good laugh over Trump’s comments at the Florida rally about not paying taxes on fringe benefits and asking whether you had to. “Does anyone know the answer to that stuff?” he asked. Um, yes, we do know, and presumably, he does, too. If your employer gives you a $100 gift card, they take taxes out, and you declare it as income. At least that’s the way it works for the little people.

Waiting for him to fall feels a little like all those old guys waiting for the Cubs to win the World Series. You hope it happens before you die.

Speaking of death, or avoidance thereof, last week was my annual oncology check-up, which I passed with flying colors.

Cancer number one was Stage 3, Grade 3 Primary Peritoneal Cancer (PPC) in 1999. This cancer is considered virtually identical to ovarian cancer, except it grows in the lining of the abdomen. To make things easy, I usually just say I had ovarian cancer.

Ovarian cancer is hard to detect. The CA-125 blood test is one tool, but it is not accurate, so it’s not used for routine screening. Coupled with a transvaginal ultrasound, it can be used as a screening tool for high-risk patients. I wasn’t considered high-risk when I was experiencing symptoms, and no one ever did a CA-125 on me prior to my diagnosis.

My CA-125 was elevated, which would have been a trigger for more tests. Presumably, they would have found my cancer a year or so earlier. But life can be interesting. By waiting another year, I landed with an exceptional doctor who successfully treated me for a disease than often kills its victims within a couple of years.

After two surgeries and six months of chemotherapy, I have been disease-free for 22 years and counting. The CA-125 has proven to be a good tool to monitor ovarian cancer once you’ve already had it. Ideally, it should be in the single digits. Mine has been 6 for many years now, and it was once again 6. Every time I see it, I tear up with gratefulness and relief.

This is my commercial interruption for ovarian cancer screening. If you are at increased risk, ask your doctor about a transvaginal ultrasound and CA-125. If a doctor suspects you have ovarian cancer or you need surgery related to ovarian cancer, see a board-certified gynecological oncologist. This is not a job for your favorite OB/GYN. 

One of the reasons survival is not as good as it should be is because women aren’t being treated by the right specialist.

Cancer number two was non-invasive Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS). Some people don’t even think this qualifies as cancer, but my oncologist assures me it is. Lumpectomy and radiation is the typical treatment. However, I am BRCA 1 positive (like Angelina Jolie), and the risk of the cancer returning in a more virulent form is much higher for me.

My treatment was a mastectomy, which was presumably curative. Once a year, the oncologist examines my chest and lymph nodes, but that’s it.

And so it goes. Another year to live!

Aromatherapy for these unprecedented times

Fresh homemade tortillas.

While this week was a wee bit hot temperature-wise, nothing on the weather horizon looked dastardly. And yet … we lost power for 14 hours and internet for almost two days. I worried about refrigerated and frozen stuff, but in all honesty, living without the internet was harder.

The internet was still down when I decided to get a pedicure. Did I mention they have internet? I was able to catch up on my email, do the NY Times puzzles and otherwise get my fix of news – all for the Classic Pedicure at $35. I pay an extra $5 on top of that for a shiny buff as opposed to color. And then there’s what I call pandemic tipping. Just give a little more if you can.

I don’t get color on my toes because swimming in chlorinated water erodes the polish rather quickly. That’s what I said, anyway. I’ve recently concluded it’s also because I prefer the purity of no color. I think of it as Beauty Base Zero from The Hunger Games. That raw base before you add layers of makeup or whatever, except I like a blank canvas as the end state.

The toes thing is top of mind because I may not continue with swimming. I’ve been estrogen-free since my first cancer diagnosis in 1999, and that puts me at higher risk for low bone density and osteoporosis. Swimming is not a weight-bearing exercise, so it doesn’t help in that department. However, I figured it was good for my back and I enjoy it, so I’ve continued with swimming.

The back is another story. I had an MRI a few years ago, and it showed a variety of age-related degeneration, mostly in the lumbar area. One doctor said I’d need surgery eventually, and another said just about everyone’s back looks like that once you reach a certain age. My back rarely hurts, so I’ve chosen to ignore it.

Except it has been acting up lately, and I wonder if swimming is contributing to the problem. I suppose it could be something about my swim stroke that is off, but can I fix that at this age? For an exercise that doesn’t help with bone density? I’ve stopped swimming for a few weeks to see what happens. It does seem to be improving, but I can’t say for sure swimming is the problem.

I’m hoping some targeted exercises will fix me right up, so I made an appointment with my primary care physician so I could get an appointment with a specialist so I can get an appointment for an MRI so I can get an appointment for physical therapy.

In the meantime, I’m just muscling my way through it. Sometimes it feels like everything is going to shit. Golf and walking are fine (so far). Plenty of stretching, but even then, you have to be careful not to fix one thing only to mess up something else. I’m also careful not to take too much Advil, but I am eternally grateful for blue buddies.

Since the internet came back up, I’ve gorged myself on news and decided I didn’t miss much. Angry people everywhere. Jerks misbehaving on airplanes, the former guy raising his ugly head, Marjorie what’s-her-name saying or doing anything, guns, shootings. Not to mention a pandemic, which I regret to inform you is not over yet.

As all the spokespeople on TV are now keen to say, these are unprecedented times. The same people who are sending thoughts and prayers after some whack job shoots up a workplace.

More and more, I find refuge in my bubble of golf, art, food. I’m making fish tacos tonight and just finished a batch of homemade tortillas. In the picture, the tortillas are still a little blonde, but they’ll get a good char when I make the tacos.

As I was finishing up, Dale moaned, “God, I love that smell.”

Aromatherapy for these unprecedented times.

Life in the slow lane

An old John Deere wagon overlooking the Zinfandel vineyard.

Understanding your limitations

When it comes to competition, some people rise to the occasion and perform their best. Others don’t. I’m among those who typically choke if you tell me there’s a prize involved.

I play in a weekly golf league, but most of the time it’s low stakes and quite manageable for someone like me, who does not embrace competitive sports. When I’m relaxed, I’m a pretty good golfer, but every now and then my league hosts a more formal tournament, and I can barely get through it.

The tournament ended yesterday, and I feel a huge sense of relief. I’m free again! Now, I can just play the game. Of course, more evolved humans can do that anyway, but I have some sort of blockage. When I first retired, I tried like the dickens to enjoy organized golf events, but for the most part, I prefer life in the slow lane.

To spare myself the drama, I may just opt out in the future. Let others scramble for the title while I enjoy a relaxing game of no-stakes golf with people who like to play their best but don’t care about winning or losing.

I view this as a retirement success story. Seek to understand your strengths and limitations and course correct as you go. Eliminate what isn’t useful or pleasant.

Camping

Speaking of the slow lane, Dale and I enjoy tent camping, but more than a year of hibernation put the kibosh on that. Now that we’re fully vaccinated and the range of possibilities is broadening, we decided to go for it. The only thing is, it’s really, really difficult to get a camping reservation in California during normal times, and now everyone has discovered the great outdoors. Places like Yosemite and Lake Tahoe are almost impossible.

Some people are willing to drive five hours for a first-come, first-served campsite. That would not be us. And that is why I spent the better part of a week tackling the reservation system, which includes ReserveAmerica.com, Recreation.gov, ReserveCalifornia.com and a cornucopia of sites managed by individual counties.

I should have started this in January, but I was pretty busy not doing much of anything. Despite being late to need, I finally got one reservation for a Sonoma County beach campground toward the end of June. In July, we’ll be going to Lassen Volcanic National Park. We may have the worst sites in the campgrounds. I don’t know, and I don’t care. We have reservations!

While I may sound like a tough outdoors girl what with tent camping and all, I do not leave the tent at night. We have a great tent with a little screened room attached to the sleeping area, and this is where I store my Luggable Loo. Because even tough girls have to pee.

My low-tech fitness tracker

My low-tech fitness tracker.

Although I avoid competitive sports, I love exercise in general and consider fitness part of my retirement lifestyle. The problem is I found myself doing too much of some things and not enough of others. With some activities, you need to do them at least twice a week to gain any benefit.

I finally made up these little cards to help me see what’s on track and what isn’t. I just started it this week, so we’ll see how well it works. I mean, it’s Thursday, and I can already see some big gaps!

I’m only documenting fitness-related stuff I need to do regularly to maintain some level of proficiency. Some activities are scheduled in advance, and the rest are as the mood strikes me. I don’t like a strict regimen.

My goal for golf practice is only once per week, but for everything else, I’m shooting for 2-3 times per week. The “R” under swimming means I have a lane reservation. I mark the box with an X after I’ve completed the activity. Weights are usually the first thing to slip, so this cheat sheet helps me stay committed.

Wine Tasting

Today was a lazy day, so Dale and I went to a winery. We live adjacent to Amador County, which produces amazing wines just as delicious as those from Napa and Sonoma. And a lot less expensive! They charge $5 for a tasting and deduct that if you purchase bottles, which we almost always do.

This area specializes in the lighter reds – Zinfandel, Barbera, Sangiovese, Primitivo, Tempranillo, Petit Syrah and a variety of house blends. The venues are typically gorgeous, and it makes us all the more grateful to live here.

While we were tasting, Dale spotted the old John Deere wagon facing the Zinfandel vineyard. Kind of cool.

The person who poured our wine asked what we had planned for the rest of the day. I said, oh, not much. Dinner?

I love retirement and the slowness of it all, so we’ll have to see whether my fitness tracker helps or hurts. Surely, we can accomplish a few things without becoming a slave to the schedule. Right?

Right?