Holding on to Hope

The last month has found me skating delicately around a very unhappy hip.   It’s hard to be my hopeful self when I’m in pain.  The scarcity of my optimism makes it all the easier for fear to take hold.  I don’t see the orthopedist until the 21st so it’s rather a long wait for some answers and - I hope - some relief.  I’m not patient in the best of circumstances and so I’ve really had to lean in to my calming meditation ways to keep it together these last few weeks.  It feels like life is frayed while I wait for some answers for my hip and try to hold off the fear that there will be no relief.  I’m grateful for days when the discomfort isn’t unbearable; when I can get in a 2-3 hour stretch of sitting-up sleep; when I feel a little more like my busy, capable self.  And I am holding on to the hope that there will be treatment that will work.

Among the Trees: Back to School

 School starts today.  It’s the start of my 22nd year at my school; my 12th in the Middle School.  I’m teaching my 8th grade Civics & Citizenship class for a  4th year.  Lessons are ready, assignments are copied and loaded to the digital platform.  I’ve made adjustments to the class that I am ready to try. 

Clothes for the week are picked out and ironed.  Actual shoes will be worn.  Folders have been created, notebooks and stickers are neatly stacked.  I’m ready. 

If I have any anxiety about the year - and I do - it’s about my health.  Since late August, my wonky, arthritic hip has been on strike.  It’s pained me on and off for the last two years but this round is the worst yet.  I cannot get through the day without an embarrassing amount of ibuprofen.  Sleeping at night has become distinctly uncomfortable, so much so that I rest but don’t really sleep, as I can’t lie down without pain.  So I rest sitting up, which is not especially restful.  I have an appointment with an orthopedic doctor later this month but I am not hopeful that actual relief will be forthcoming.  And so I wait while my fears run amok. 

My greatest anxiety is about the threat to my independence this problem presents.  Just getting up and walking around is uncomfortable and though I keep at it, there are times when the discomfort is excruciating.  At minimum, I need relief from the pain.  At maximum, I’d like to be able to trust my hip to see me through whatever it is I wish to do.  Right now, I am confined to walks in safe places.  My step count is up because I cannot sit for more than 20 minutes without discomfort when I do stand and walk.  So I set a timer and keep moving.  

I am hopeful that things can be made better.  But I am also very, very afraid.  It’s a strange combination, hope and fear.  But it’s where I am at today, as the school year is underway.  

Thank You, Science

Earlier today I received my second jab of the Pfizer vaccine and I could not be more grateful.  When the state of New Jersey notified me that I could make my first vaccine appointment on February 9, I was one of just a few people at school to receive the notice.  Since then, on almost a daily basis, more and more teachers are being vaccinated.

We are planning for school to be fully in session next September and the steady rate of vaccination in my state makes that plan feel more secure by the day.  That was foremost on my mind when I received my first vaccine.  Today, I’m feel relieved that going into the grocery store is no longer a chore fraught with danger.  I will stay masked up until the CDC instructs otherwise and I don’t have plans to be in public places with much greater frequency until T and JT are vaccinated.  But I did feel some of my anxiety ease with the second jab and for that I am feeling incredibly grateful. 

Real Life Conversations with KO: Mafia edition

The backstory:  I had a basal cell skin cancer removed from my face last week and the removal involved plastic surgery to make sure it looks good in the aftermath.  Ten stitches later it seemed like a bigger deal than I had expected and my sister and I exchanged a few text messages about the whole situation, starting with the reminder that this is my third basal cell skin cancer.

Me:  Slowly but surely I will carve pieces of my self off.

KO:  Hey those pieces turned on you so they have to be voted off the island.  You try to kill me, you’re gone.

Me:  That is now our family motto.

KO:  Sounds kind mafia but (shrugs shoulders emoji).

Me:  Mafia when you are 25 but I am 50 so it’s common sense.

KO:  That’s probably what they say too.

Indeed.  Meanwhile, the repair is looking better and better (and hurting less) and the stitches come out Wednesday.  I’d expect that I will continue to reap the rewards of a youth spent lying around the pool without sunscreen.  Which may be troubling for my health but is likely good news from a family humor point of view.

On Light Posting

Last week, I was down-for-the-count with the flu. Because I work in a school, I always get a flu shot and I’d already had mine this year when the fever and chills took hold.  I felt like I’d been hit by a bus.  But, in typical Sassafras fashion, it took me three days to believe that I was actually sick and not just really tired and in need of a new mattress.  By then, I was no longer interested in leaving the sofa and it was too late to start Tamiflu.

Awesome.

The flu’s real specialty is the lingering illnesses it causes.  I was no exception.  A week in, just as the flu symptoms began to ease, I developed an impressive cough and sinus infection.  

Cue the antibiotics.

My lungs like to flirt with seasonal asthma and the flu hooked them up…….bring on the wheezing, bronchitis, and coughing now so severe that I couldn’t lay down at night. Daytime coughing spells featured the always exciting prospect that my gag reflex would kick in and I’d hurl.  Plus, my voice was weak and talking made me cough.  This is a problem when you consider my line of work.

Which is to say that things just got better and better.

Thursday, I hauled my wheezing carcass to the doctor for visit number three and acquired a dazzling array of treatments.  

By the end of Thursday, I felt better.  Codeine-laced cough syrup gave me a chance to sleep for more than an hour between coughs.  As of today, I am feeling better.  I still don’t have much of a voice (an irony I think we can all appreciate).  I remind myself that can’t last forever and I have every reason to believe I am on the mend.  That’s happy!

Round and Round

My wonky hip discomfort in January was diagnosed as bursitis and resulted in two weeks of no work outs followed by two more weeks of physical therapy.  Only then was I authorized to get back on the elliptical at the gym.  Consultations with the orthopedist and the physical therapist sent me back to the gym with a new workout plan. Pro-tip:  running up hill with a high resistance on the elliptical is quite a strain on aging hips.  Also, according to my doctor, "nuts."  That's a clinical diagnosis, folks.

I weathered the period of less activity much better than I expected and still (mostly) have my sanity, which is likely pleasing to those who are forced to deal with me on a daily basis.   On the day I was able to get back on the elliptical, I was practically giddy as I stretched out my achilles (a remnant of the last elliptical injury), fired up my favorite workout playlist, and got ready to run.  

I started slow and enjoyed the sensation of my muscles warming up to that familiar rhythm.  Within a mile, I settled into a comfortable pace.  By mile two, I felt peace descend over me. I had so missed the build up and attendant release on the other side of a good run.  That night, I went to bed pleasantly tired.  I woke up the next morning and stepped gingerly out of bed only to find that my hip felt just fine.

So I'm back in business, albeit well-aware of the need to look after myself and heed the warnings of sore or strained muscles.  That is serious progress for me.   It would seem that an old dog can be taught a few new tricks.

Greetings from Taking it Easy Land

I work out for a lot of reasons, but among the most important is the business of keeping a grip on my sanity.  It's not a firm grip or anything, but it is a finger or two.  So this week of no workouts has been a bit of a challenge on that front.

I've substituted some quiet meditation, lots of grading and two after-school-meetings.  Only one of these things actually helped to keep me on an even keel.  My hip is much, much better with only the occasional twinge to remind me of my advanced age.  The old Sassafras Mama would have been sneaking off to the gym with that little discomfort.  The new Sassafras Mama is still sufficiently terrified of screwing up her hip for life.

I think that's called being a grown up.

Hipster

Those of you well-acquainted with me know that a certain relentlessness is one of my least-desirable traits.  I like to maintain standards and I won't go to bed until my to-do list is complete.  Were I the type to create manageable to-do lists, this might be a fine and even appealing personal feature.  Alas, I am not that person.  In fact, in a pinch, rather than adjust and reduce my standards I am prone to ratchet up my expectations.

So it was that last weekend my left hip felt a little sore, the kind of sore that women with 45 year-old hips might expect from life.  Years ago, a doctor had suggested that the soreness was likely bursitis.                                                                                                                            

When I felt the soreness this time around, I took note.  Then I concluded it wasn't sore enough for me to skip my regular trips to the gym.  So I ran my usual 5 miles on Saturday.  And I did that again on Sunday.  I took Monday off.  On Tuesday afternoon, when my hip ached in a more insistent fashion, I ordered the hip to quit complaining and I headed off to the gym.  Wednesday, when the hip grumbled even more, I ignored it and ran like the wind on my favorite elliptical.  To be fair, while I was on the elliptical my hip felt great.  It was only when I stopped running that the discomfort returned.

Thursday morning found me distinctly uncomfortable, with a sore left hip that no longer ached only when I walked upstairs.  Now it hurt when I walked at all.   When I tried to raise my leg to put on my tights that morning, I thought I might pass out the pain was so great.  Trying to get up a hill was excruciating.  Hmmm, I thought again.  Better make a doctor's appointment for next week and take it easy today.

T had been making that suggestion since Tuesday and so she gave me the thumbs up when I planned to take it easy on Thursday.  That "taking it easy" in my world entailed an afternoon of changing the sheets on two beds, washing and folding a couple loads of laundry, cleaning both bathrooms and making biscuits to go with the evening's supper may reflect a certain personality disorder on my part.

Thursday evening the pain in the hip made it impossible to find a comfortable position.  Walking hurt.  Standing hurt.  Sitting?  Painful.  When I finally fell into bed (a challenge because my bed is high off the floor), I couldn't find a comfortable way to sleep.  In fact, my hip hurt so much that I couldn't even roll over.  In the middle of the night, I hobbled to the bathroom and downed a truckload of ibuprofen.

Friday morning was rough, but I slowly crept to work (and my second floor classroom), called the doctor and kept up the ibuprofen.  After a miserable day of extreme discomfort, that afternoon I went to the doctor.  The pain I described alarmed her enough to fear that I had burst a bursa.  She ran a blood test to check for infection and then she threw in an X-ray to ensure that I hadn't fractured a bone.  Nothing burst or broken, I limped out the office with a serious anti-inflammatory prescription and orders to take it easy for the next 10 days.  No elliptical, no biking, no strenuous workouts, she ordered. 

I did so this weekend, likely because of T's help around the house as well as the fright I experienced on Friday.  The realization that I could barely walk, let alone walk up and down the stairs in my multi-story home with laundry facilities in the basement and a closet and playroom in the attic, was unsettling.  Add to that my second-story classroom in a building with no elevator and a job that demands the ability to be physically engaged and I was sufficiently scared this time around.  

It is to be hoped that at the ripe old age of 45 I can heed this advice for more than a weekend.