Who's baking the cake?

Holidays...tradition...family gatherings. If you're lucky enough to have and enjoy all those things I believe  you are truly blessed.

All week I've rummaged for the recipe file that always gets pushed to the back of the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet right after Christmas. It's doubly hard to come up with this year because we moved this past summer and my whole life has been rearranged.

Finally, after reclaiming this treasure, I begin the long hikes through several cavernous grocery stores to find just the right ingredients. For our family the must have dish is a pumpkin cake. Its a recipe that stretches back into my childhood, and one of these sticky creations has graced the table each year at Thanksgiving and Christmas for my whole married life. If that doesn't qualify as a tradition then I don't understand the word.

When I was a little girl we always went to my Grandmother's house for the holidays. While the menu might have slight changes...from ham to turkey...salad to Cole slaw...the pumpkin cake was a constant. Time passed, I got married and my mom and dad came to our house for the holidays, visiting my grandparents a day later. This tradition transference meant my mom picked up the pumpkin cake and ran with it. It became her holiday signature Disney, and my children likely don't remember a holiday that the pumpkin cake didn't arrive in mom's dented cake pan. No matter what I bought her, that cake pan was her favorite; she'd frost the cake, put on the dented cover and scotch tape it to the dish so the cake couldn't slide out. Because she refused to replace it, the old dented cake pan also became a tradition, one that brought smiles every year.

After the feeding frenzy slowed and the desserts came out mom would make her yearly “I don't know if it's any good” announcement. Then she'd grin from ear to ear as the compliments flowed and the cake disappeared.  When mom died last year my daughter Wendy gallantly stepped up and made the pumpkin cake to keep the tradition going.   The celebration was more subdued, but seeing that cake on the table somehow made things a little better...a little more normal.

My daughter is a great cook, and her cake was letter perfect, but this year I've decided it's my turn. I sat this afternoon deciphering my grandmother's recipe card. Somewhere I have a card in mom's beautiful handwriting, but that will have to wait till I stumble upon it when I'm searching for something else.

As I write this the smell of pumpkin cake fills the house; I'm waiting for it to cool so I can slather the cream cheese icing on it. When that's do one I will put it in mom's dented cake pan, scotch tape it closed, and set it aside for tomorrow.

The years go by so quickly that you can easily lose track. Maybe you mark the years by how tall the grand kids are...or how many years you've been in your job. Looking back I can mark the years by who's baking the pumpkin cake. Once I've mastered this cake I will make sure a recipe card in my hand writing joins the others in the file. Tradition...it's the yardstick of life...and life is good.

                                                Happy Thanksgiving

Amnesty

This entire month, in truth the whole year, has been a constant 'this time last year' experience.  My mother died last year in the early hours of October 21st.  The last two years of her life had been a long, painful slide but I still wanted to believe she might pull it off one more time.   A fall had broken her arm but not her spirit; she had an amazing will to live.



Her last few days were spent in and out of consciousness, and I came to understand that she was preparing to leave as  I sat by her bed;  I had been there almost constantly since the accident.  I held her hand and, without ever opening her eyes she said in a quiet voice, "I saw Mom today.  She was sitting on the back porch.  She wanted me to go with her but I didn't."  I could tell the effort it took for her to speak at all.



"Momma, if you want to go with her you go ahead.  I'll be along in a little while, and we will all be alright.  I love you mom," I said with all the control I could muster.  Less than two days later she was gone.



At 89 Mom was frail.  Two years before a broken hip had healed, but in the process it had sapped her strength, her health and eventually her mind.  She was unable to drive, unable to live alone, she couldn't attend church any longer and slowly she retreated deep into a shell of illness and age. 



I tried to keep her engaged, tried to get her to move.  My efforts were met with "you don't understand" and eventually with the recitation of her long list of fears that held her captive  in her small, handicap accessible apartment.  She seemed absorbed with the twice a day pill schedule and the morning and evening eye drops that were now necessary.  She both resented and appreciated "those girls" who came in every day to help with medicines and bathing.  She had never required help and she certainly didn't believe she needed it now…It was frustrating for both of us.   Try as I might I could not take care of her in a way that would comfort her now and later give me peace;  I still wrestle with regrets and "what ifs" at times.



This last of many falls put  her into a downward spiral nothing could stop;  it was as if I was trying to hold the tide back with my bare hands.   After Mom's death I put my sadness in a compartment in my head where it couldn't overwhelm me and, when I was ready, I could take it out and look at it.   There was nothing more to be done.



Time marches on, and in the first part of this year my husband and I found a house we loved and we decided to make a move.  The move added physical stress to both our bodies, and my hip and his back declared a mutiny.  The day before the movers arrived his back attacked.  To keep the move on track I doubled my efforts; the lifting and stairs took their toll and my already challenged hip gave out.  We moved into our new house with the help of our children, some good movers, and dear family friends.  Eventually we both ended up in surgery…a less than auspicious beginning in a new home, I might add. 



In my effort to keep moving I had pulled out Mom's walker and cane to use until my scheduled surgery.   A routine trip to the eye doctor established I needed to use prescribed eye drops, morning and evening.  If I was able to go out to shop at all it was in a wheel chair or electric cart; I was unable to walk far or drive.  I less than six months I was becoming my mother! 



Finally at home recovering from the hip surgery, I relaxed in the family room  in my recliner.   The time had come to open that compartment; I sat thinking about how much I missed my mom.   The past few months of my life had given me a much greater understanding about her last months.  I now knew how it frustrating it can be to try to recover from surgery in unfamiliar surroundings; nothing you need is where it ought to be.   I learned shopping in a wheel chair isn't really shopping…it's moving and stopping at someone elses pace.  I remembered how difficult it was for me to take mom's car away, but now I understood how hard it was for her to be dependent on someone to not only drive, but get her in and out of the car and wheelchair.  The drugs, the eye drops, the endless doctors appointments…all things that she had come to dread because of her physical and mental deterioration were now mine to cope with.  The irony was just too big to step over.



As I replayed those last days in my head I remembered the tough times when either or both of us would lose what few patience we had left; but I also remembered the laughter.  I recalled doing her hair, taking her things to try to tempt her to eat, laughing about things that were too difficult to be taken seriously.  I realized we had both done our best under some very difficult circumstances.    



My mom couldn't come back from all the medical challenges at her age, but I am on the mend and  I am grateful for this last few difficult months.  It's given me a better understanding of what mom went through, and it's given me some peace.  I realize I did everything I could do to help make her last days comfortable, and I'm granting myself an amnesty for the things I didn't do.   It's what she'd want me to do...because she was my mom.



Now the first tough year is over; there will be no more 'this time last year' to deal with.  Our family laughs and jokes about the character who was my mother.   We all miss her…we all love her…all we'll all be along soon.



                                                            Life is Good

Surviving the rain

                                  "Into each life a little rain must fall"

                               I think I may have just survived the monsoon.

If you've been following along you know my hip replacement that took place July 27th was going along quite nicely till, five weeks to the day from the surgery, my new hip joint tried to get away.  At least that's how it felt when it came out of the socket.   After a day at the hospital having it put back into place my surgeon he told me I would have to wear a brace for six weeks.

Taking my prescription to the prosthetics office  I soon learned the "brace" was a plastic and aluminum contraption that I had to wear 24/7.  It wrapped clear around my midriff, clasped in the front, bars and plastic and foam rubber went down my right side to hold me into a position that (theoretically) would keep the hip in place till some healing could take place.  Velcro straps held the plastic plates in place around my right thigh, strapped in place like some high tech gunslinger.

A wide, hard piece of plastic that nestled into the small of my back was curved, arching my back as I lay in bed.  Struggling to find a semi comfortable position in which to sleep I realized I must resemble a large obstacle on a miniature golf course. (Putt through the tunnel and get a free Pepsi!)  Outside of bed I was locked in an 80% slant that wouldn't allow me to sit straight up,  the metal parts sticking out on each side stubbornly stuck under restaurant tables and trapped me in chairs with arms.  The right side is so big that I've come to think of it as an arm rest, and I can hang my small purse on a rather large hook that comes out under my ribcage.  I would love to get a peek at the design for this thing.  I'm sure it was created at the Marquis de Sade school of brace design, the most uncomfortable pile of parts in all of brace-dom.

This morning I prepared to return to see the surgeon; I dressed and strapped on the brace for what I hoped would be the last time.  My six weeks were up, and hoping for good news we headed out to see the doctor.

As the surgeon peered at my new xrays I held my breath.  After we had established that I've been a good girl, and everything looked good he said the magic words, "I think we can come out of the brace".   Yes!!  Six weeks of wearing  the lobster suit and walking like a penguin had paid off!!!   Woo hoo!!

I think my joint replacement odessy is nearly at an end; I couldn't be happier.  If I take it slow for the next couple of months, that includes not bending at more than a 90% angle, not twisting or reaching down and to the side, the odds that this won't happen again get better.   I will do everything I can to keep from ending up in that brace or an operating room again.

My experience has taught me that this can best be handled like any other challenge in life.  If you have a good support group, a positive attitude and a sense of humor you can get through most things.  Oh…and a little wine doesn't hurt either.

                                                          Life is Good

        

Reunion....Whatever happened to the class of 1965??

Fifty years.  Fifty. Years.  Combine those words and you give recognition to a big chunk of time that should have produced a great deal of wisdom just with it's passing.  At least that's what l'd like to think.

At the end of my senior year in high school in 1965 I was poised to take on life and everything it had to throw at me.  I was eighteen years old, worldly and indestructible.  Drawing on my huge storehouse of wisdom I had chosen my life partner at the age of fourteen; now we were getting married to start our great adventure together.  With no clear goals in mind, I worked part time in the boys department at Montgomery Ward stuffing chubby little boys into pants labeled "Husky".  After surviving high school without any great accomplishments or upsets, I didn't know what I didn't know.  Now, in September of 2015, I was driving to my 50th high school reunion to re-visit those days. 

In spite of the fact that my husband had just had back surgery the week before, and I was sporting a huge leg brace to keep my newly acquired hip in place, we persevered.  The registration line stretched out the restaurant doors and onto the sidewalk.  As Larry and I stood waiting I mentally superimposed senior class pictures over faces, struggling to recognize my former classmates through the lens of our fifty year separation.   Some looked very old (gosh, do I look that old, too?)...some looked unwell (This darned brace makes me look pathetic!)...some looked pretty darned good ( shoot, I didn't look that good fifty years ago!)...but no one looked familiar.

I must admit I've kept up with only a few people since  graduation.  I've connected with more of my classmates on Face Book than I ever did in the halls and classes of my alma mater.  I was not the Homecoming Queen, or a cheerleader, nor did I sit in the "M Section" or work on the school paper or yearbook.  In fact I didn't engage in any extra curricular activities that might have marked my high school years as "the best years of my life"  Instead of being a joiner I marched to my own drum  accompanied by a smattering of friends and acquaintances who, like me, kept busy going to school days and working nights and weekends.

Like every high school student I was aware of the cliques:  the rich kids, the pretty/popular girls, and the tough kids who were always in trouble for smoking (gasp) across the street from the school.  The rich kids lived in big houses and went south for spring break.  The pretty girls had perfect eye brows and porcelain skin.  They wore angora sweaters, circle pins and dated football players.  The tough kids glowered intimidatingly from under their grey cloud of cigarette smoke and kept to themselves.  The much less obvious group I fit into was often awakened in the night by the clackity-clack of a train; the tracks ran through our back yards and we lived on the wrong side of them.  We mostly just felt invisible as we went about doing our educational duty.

I guess that feeling of invisibility is one reason I found it fascinating to peek in on this fifty year "fast forward".  As the evening progressed it was obvious some of my classmates had become doctors, lawyers or Indian chiefs, while others worked day to day and seemed happy just to have made it to retirement age.  As youngsters many of these people possessed advantages and talents that others of us did not, but fifty years later drive and tenacity seem to have played just as well for many of the class.  As for me, I turned my desire to be 'on the radio' into a broadcast career that covered thirty six years and kept me from having to get a real job.  At the end of the night I didn't walk away from the reunion with an epiphany, just the quiet thought that time and effort are great equalizers.

My old yearbook, The Manhigan, is a moment of time frozen between leatherette covers.  There aren't a lot of opportunities for us to see how things turned out for so many people, but a fifty year class reunion is just that.  I didn't talk to everyone I'd have liked to, but I left that gathering with the hope that all of them have enjoyed this fifty year ride as much as I have.

It didn't happen without a lot of work and a good dose of struggle, but the marriage that started when I was eighteen has somehow lasted fifty years.   My husband and I have watched our three amazing kids become three amazing adults who now manage their own careers, kids, and chaos.  It's all been worth it, and it ain't over till the fat lady sings.
 
I bet there were a lot fascinating stories in that room last month and I truly wish I could have heard them all.  Having said that I know one thing...I wouldn't trade places with any of them.  Long live the class of '65.

                                                           Life is Good




 

If at First You Don't Succeed....

As promised here’s an update on my joint replacement progress; if it’s something you are contemplating this may be a more significant column for you to digest. 

Last Monday, August 31^st, I was feeling very cocky about my recovery.  It was five weeks to the day after a very uneventful surgery.  I had arrived at the hospital in pain and left with little to no pain; in the five weeks since that time I had seldom needed a pain pill or had any problems.  Finally I'd been downgraded from a walker to the cane, but I’d given up on that too because my own clumsiness with the cane made me fear it might cause me to fall.  I was now “full weight bearing” and steaming forward!  That is until the doorbell rang……….

Opening the door is always an event at our house because our dog, Molly, feels it’s her duty to decide whether to welcome or deflect anyone at the door…the volume and bouncing are the same in either case.  As she jumped up on my leg to make sure I knew we had a visitor I reached down to scratch her head to calm her.  I must have twisted wrong, because that slight movement started a nauseating sliding sensation inside my right hip that soon became a crescendo of pain.  My brand new hip seemed to have developed a mind of its own.

I dropped to the floor on my left side, raised onto my elbow, and stayed in that position for the next five or six hours in the emergency room.    Within five minutes some nice rescue squad fellows wrapped and belted me in that position before they gingerly lifted me onto a gurney and took me to the ER.  They understood any movement caused me excruciating pain, and they did their apologetic best to move me with as little jostling as possible.  Their mothers would be proud.

Suffice it to say that it was a completely unpleasant experience, and I’ve berated myself for even bending a little bit.  I was lucky they were eventually able to knock me out and put the hip back into the socket without another operation.  I knew when I left the hospital that I had follow-up appointments for a brace and a meeting later with my surgeon. 

Sitting around before my appointments the family and I tried to figure out what a “hip brace” might look like.  My thought was a very tight girdle-like contraption, maybe with some kind of insert to keep the hip area as rigid as possible…what else could it be?

Arriving at the prosthetics company today I met with a young man who artfully fitted me for my brace.  You know that girdle thing?  Forget it!  My right hip is now encased in plastic, foam rubber, metal rods and Velcro from waist to knee.  I can only describe it to you this way:  Let’s say you head to the Halloween costume store determined to be a Star Wars Storm Trooper this year.  As you dig through their inventory you discover they only have a quarter of the costume on hand!  

Disappointed, but still determined to wear it, you put on the right leg to the Storm Trooper costume and head to the door.  Just as you’re exiting the building someone says, “Hey lady…you having some kind of hip trouble?”  That’s what my brace looks like, only not quite as attractive.

Later in the day I met with my surgeon, a nice looking young man who was wearing his “I think we discussed this” face.  He assured me I have torn muscles and ligaments but the implant doesn’t seem to be damaged.  I think that was the good news.  The bad news that followed was that I must wear the Star Wars brace 24/7 for the next six weeks while the soft tissue heals and grows to hold the implant in place.   We are starting over as far as healing goes, so I’m back to square one, doing very little except whine.   Hopefully this dislocation was a fluke, but if it happens again there may be more surgery in my future.

 

There are so many things I’ve been looking forward to doing after this hip heals; I (and everyone who cares about and for me) have been living this “hip” saga for six long months now.  Even the smallest things have been difficult to do, and now with this brace that has ramped up about a hundred percent.   I’d throw myself a pity party but I don’t have a thing to wear that even remotely compliments this darned brace.  I just have to put my gratitude and my mind in the right gear and get on with it.

If you’re facing joint replacement, and I’ve met so many people who are since this has happened to me, please don’t let this scare you out of the surgery.  Just remember that this is a rather rare event, and if it’s going to happen to anyone it’s going to be me. 

Yes....it's set-back, but this too, in time, shall pass.  Thankfully there’s nothing here that a glass of wine, a good cry, and a Star Wars costume won’t fix.

                                                         Life is Good

                                                      

Walking the Walk

         

Tomorrow it will have been four weeks since I received my new right hip.  I know it’s not as glamorous as Bruce (Caitlyn) Jenner’s surgeries…not as ground breaking as the first face transplant…and not as obvious as a well done face lift…but it’s made a big change in my life.

I came home from the hospital in less pain than when I went in.  The first week I admit I felt rather fragile, wobbly and exhausted.  By the middle of the second week that had begun to change, and I found myself challenging the 6 to 8 week recovery estimate.  After pushing too hard and discovering the surgery may have been on my hip, but it still had the upper hand, I backed off and allowed my body to manage this recovery at its chosen pace.  My impatient nature had whispered to me if recovery for everyone else was six weeks, I’d be back on a bicycle in two.  If most patients used a walker for up to eight weeks, I’d be rid of that contraption much sooner.  My silly nature didn’t know what the heck it was talking about….and not for the first time, I might ad.

If you are facing joint replacement you need to know that, at least in my case, it has been accompanied by very little pain.  You also need to realize that being nearly painless does not mean being a cake walk.  I was amazed by how much the surgery drained me.  As I reach the four week mark I am now back to a normal energy level, but I still cannot push my body too far before it reminds me that four weeks really isn’t all that long.

I visited my surgeon’s office last week, x-rays were good and I’m progressing well.  I will be allowed to drive soon, and they told me I could begin to use a cane instead of a walker.  That was music to my ears!  I went home and immediately, put the walker away, grabbed my cane and took off.  By days end I was uncomfortable, experiencing pain and muscle spasms.  As I swallowed a pain pill and headed off to bed I realized I was going to have to think things thru a bit.  Now, a few days later, I am still weaning myself off the walker, allowing my new hip to experience full weight bearing a little slower, and using the cane as long as it is comfortable. 

I know there are some of you who read this blog who are facing joint replacement, and that’s why I wanted to share my experiences with you.   Being the personality type who has to make all the mistakes before she learns anything, I thought there might be some valuable information I could pass along….so here, for what it’s worth, is what I’ve learned:

Don’t let your fear of surgery keep you from reclaiming your quality of life.  Just do it…..

Don’t expect to be running a 5k two weeks after surgery….but know that you will very likely be able to do that in a reasonable amount of time.

Let your body be your doctor.  If you’re tired, lie down….if it hurts stop.  There is no glory in joint replacement martyrdom.

Take this moment in time to delete junk from your laptop…read the books series you’ve been saving in the back of the closet; do whatever it takes to relax and allow yourself the time to heal.  Give yourself permission to invest the time necessary to regain your health!

 Remember when it comes to recovery that slow and steady wins the race…and it’s not a race.

From here on out my recovery will hopefully be a matter of graduating completely to using a cane, then putting that cane into the back of the closet where it belongs.  I look forward to gradually increasing the distance I can walk outdoors, maybe even being able to enjoy some late fall days on the bike trail if the weather holds out. 

Like everything else, this has been a learning experience.  Just a year ago this cane belonged to my mother.  She hated the darned thing, always retracing her halting steps to find it hanging on a drawer pull or door knob.  I had no idea that less than a year later she would be gone and I would be looking for that same doggoned cane; at this very moment I believe it’s hanging on the dishwasher handle.

My healing ritual continues to be quite simple…sunshine and coffee in the porch swing, with a side of thankfulness.

                                                                   Life is Good 

The Night Strider

Here I am, starting the second week of recovery; hard to believe that just a week ago I was still struggling to get the anesthetic cobwebs out of my brain.  Since discovering I needed a new hip I've talked to so many people in the same situation over the last few weeks, joint replacement seems to be as common as a hair appointment.  Getting through the recovery period, however, is not.

I've been very fortunate to have had minimal pain as this new hip and I struggle to settle into the same nest.  While I feel fortunate to be feeling as well as I do I struggle with my biggest frustration, that of getting around.  I've discovered going from point A to point B using a walker pegs my fun meter in very short order.  Every time I relocate I need both hands for the walker and a carry out boy for my ice bags, iPad, cell phone, magazines, coffee cups, etc.   If joint replacement has come so far why haven't the appliances needed to get you through to recovery kept pace?  After giving it a lot of thought, and in order to make my own downtime more productive, I am hard at work designing a new walker specifically for us baby-boomers.  It's hard to project an accurate time frame, but it should be on the market just about the time President Trump is sworn in.  I'm not quite finished, but I think the  infomercial should go something like this:


@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Introducing the amazing new walker, designed specifically for the baby boomer generation!!    You enjoyed the sleek, black lines of Kip on Knight Rider...now meet "Cecil, the Night-Strider".

                            Background music: Ricky Nelson, Traveling Man

Fade in:  The video shows the front view of a shiny black walker, a red light travels back and forth, back and forth, between the handles.  An attractive, athletic 70-ish David Hasselhoff is in the foreground, sitting in a recliner with his leg in a cast .  He looks up from his news paper and speaks to the walker:

"Cecil, it's that time again.  Come here and help me to the bathroom".

As if by magic the walker moves toward the recliner, then turns around and backs itself into position. As the smiling Hasselhoff grabs the walker, it growers taller, lifting him from his sitting position.

"Thanks, Cecil..."

The walker replies (in George Burns voice), "The next surgery is going to be that prostate of yours.  You're wearing me out!   Here, give me that coffee mug.  You wanna ruin the carpet?"  A mechanical arm from Cecil's side takes the coffee mug  and news paper so David can use both hands to support himself on the walker.  A second mechanical arm from Cecil's other side smooths Hasselhoff's satin robe as they head off down the hallway to the bathroom.

           ( Fade out:  Cecil and Hasselhoff turn the corner in the hallway)

Night-Strider is a welcome advancement in mechanical assistance!  It's cutting edge voice activation system is vastly programmable to adapt to specific needs that restore mobility and independence as you work toward recovery.  In addition to making the patient more self sufficient, the verbal sparring feature helps keep his/her mind sharp.  Night-Strider is available in two models:  Cranky Uncle Cecil and Sharp-Tongued Mabel.   Unlike human assistants, Cecil and Mabel each have an off switch.

Additional features that may be added include: timed pill dispenser, insulin injection arm, food dispenser and oxygen transporter.  Our sleep apnea patients will want to watch for the January launch of the special edition "Cecil-C-pap".  Ask your operator for details.

        @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Maybe I've had too much frustrating time on my hands, or maybe the pain medication causes the creative neurons to miss-fire...whatever the explanation I think there's a real future for The Night Strider.   Unfortunately I don't have a prototype ready to use as I recover from this hip replacement so I guess I'll just have to give some thought to other solutions.  Let's see...maybe if I tied the belt from my bathrobe to the handle of my gardening scooter.......hmmmmmm.

                                                          Life is Good

Without A Leg to Stand On

Fifty years ago today President Lyndon Johnson signed into effect the Medicare/Medicaid act.  I was eighteen years old and probably missed that event; I certainly didn’t think I’d ever have any use for it if I even realized what a monumental thing it was.  Today I am home recovering from what will very likely be a fifty thousand dollar surgery, and I am thankful LBJ left that as his legacy.   The same surgery without the assistance of Medicare would have been as financially painful as it is physically challenging.   The irony is not lost on this patient.

Monday, July 27^th

 was my “grand opening”, and I now have a new hip.  I came home yesterday, the second day after surgery, and I promised to be honest about the experience.   My total summation:  Not bad.

The week before surgery we had an orientation day.  Larry and I went to the hospital to meet the staff and learn about the joint replacement department of Galion Hospital.  They fed us lunch, explained their program, and introduced us to staff members who were available to answer our questions. It was a nice touch because joint replacement is a scary thing.  I think it was at that very point I really understood there is very little room for error in these procedures if you want a good outcome.  Now it was really serious…..

Sunday evening my surgeon, Dr. Foster, called to make sure I didn’t have any unanswered questions, although I’m sure he must have felt like a contestant on Jeopardy after our previous meeting.  When I first started having so much pain my desire was to find a treatment to extend the life of my own hip; by the time I met with Doctor Foster I had satisfied myself that the only way to get my life back was to have a hip replacement.  I read up on the different types of replacements and the procedures for their installation.

If you are facing joint replacement I urge you to consider what travel might add to the mix.  I have friends who have had their surgery in Columbus or Cleveland, and I’ve heard good things about the results.  For me that wasn’t as appealing because my own problem had advanced to the point that sitting upright had become incredibly painful.  A two hour round trip in either direction for testing, registration and orientation was more pain than I was willing to tolerate.   We have some excellent surgeons and hospitals right here at home, and I am glad I took advantage of that.  I chose Dr. Foster because he had performed a hip replacement on my mother, and he had impressed me with his skill and after care. 

This past Monday morning found us driving through the early morning haze to arrive at the hospital at 6:30 a.m.  I can’t say I approached it with dread, but there was very little conversation in the car as Larry and I arrived at the hospital.  I think I actually felt a mixture of hope and resignation.  For three and a half months I’d been in a great deal of pain, unable to sit for long, walk very far, and hardly driving at all.  Now I could see that confinement coming to an end…but not without “investment pain” to get me there.  But I did feel confident I’d see improvement daily after the procedure instead of the steady slide into even more severe pain.

This was prep time.  My feet were marked for pulse points, and the right one was marked with a smiley face to insure the correct hip got the attention needed.  Then, after I was as sterile as one can possibly be and the IV was in place (always the worst part!),  I was off to the operating room.

As I was rolled under the big lights I noticed a figure standing to my left; it wore a clear face shield and helmet, a blue gown and scrubs and it looked like an alien.   I tried not to watch as the alien carefully placed some frightening looking instruments into their proper places on a blue draped table.  The Marquis De Sade would have been thrilled to have this great array of instruments at his disposal.  It only took a second for me to realize I didn’t want to have the vision of these things in my mind, so I quickly changed my 'mind channel' to Pinterest and thought about decorating as I drifted off to sleep.  I may be frivolous, but I’m not stupid.

I am told everything went like clockwork; I vaguely remember waking for a few minutes surrounded by my family, then nothing else till much later in the evening.  I did not wake to a blaze of pain, which I found amazing.  Dr. Foster had explained that the wound would have something placed in it to keep pain at bay for up to 36 hours, I was very happy to realize he knew what he was talking about!  That evening I got out of bed and walked a little way down the hall with the assistance of some very nice gals, the next day I made two much longer sorties outside the room to therapy.  By the time I left on Wednesday afternoon moving was becoming easier and less painful.

Now I’m home and on the mend, but this is still only the third day after surgery.  On the ever popular pain scale of one to ten I would list my current discomfort as a two, spiking to a three or four as I get up from bed.  I also have to think about moving, which is awkward.  The restrictions include not pivoting on the right leg, not crossing my legs, and not bending into more than a 90 degree angle.  As long as I give those directions the thought they deserve my pain is short lived and quite tolerable.  When I don't I have come to an intimate understanding of what a great instructor pain can be.  Dr. Foster says there will be good days and bad days, just take it easy and let your body heal.  

If you are headed down the path to joint replacement I urge you to go through your house and think about how you will manage on a walker.  Some temporary adjustments can do wonders to help you through recovery.  Those little changes and assists will mean a lot because every movement is ten time more difficult when you get home.  To prepare yourself I strongly recommend using hand weights to keep up the strength in your arms because they are your most dependable mode of transportation after surgery.   Do your homework on your physician and hospital; there is an enormous amount of information available to you on the web.  Make your choices, then plant your feet on the road to recovery and get on with it.  

Since this physically painful chapter in my life I’ve been thinking about what it must have been like a hundred years ago without this kind of surgery available.   The surgical techniques, implants, and drugs required to restore a persons health and movement just didn't exist.   I am so grateful to live in the day and age where we have these minor miracles.  Even considering all the stress and strain these are really the good old days.

I am in less pain today than I was when Larry and I drove through the early morning hours to the hospital just four days ago, and that says it all.   For the next six weeks I plan to read, write and relax. Patience has never been my strong suit, but God knows I am trying to learn.  I’m very lucky to have the world’s best friends and family who seem to take great pleasure in reminding me when I forget. 
I am anxious to see what the next couple of weeks bring.

Thanks to all of you for the prayers that went up on my behalf and the kind thoughts that came my way….Life is Good.

It's time to get out of this joint.

I’ve been absent from blogging for a good long time.  Somehow this year seems to have drained my creative energies and left me adrift in a sea of lethargy.  I hope this is my first step out of those energy sapping waters.

The past nine months have seen a lot of change in my life, and that can be draining.  My current challenge has inspired me to get back to blogging in the hopes that it might help someone who’s going thru the same thing.

One of several big changes in the last few months is a new house.  After living in the same house for 36 years we stopped at an open house on a lark, fell in love with the place and bought it on the spot.  My husband and I are not snap decision makers, so this was totally out of character for us.  Somehow, even though we’ve had longer discussions about where to go for lunch, we jumped in with both feet.   

And so it was that we found ourselves in our new home surrounded by boxes of belongings we had forgotten we owned, too much furniture, and each of us in too much pain to do much of anything.  Filling and lifting boxes had wrecked my husband’s back the day before the movers arrived.  Trying to pick up the slack I discovered my right hip became more painful every day; by the time we were actually in the new house I could hardly walk.  With the help of family and friends who have now reached ‘sainted’ status we managed to get moved into the new house.  With their continued efforts (and that of some folks we hired to help us out) we got the old house ready for the market and listed.   At first the new house had all the charm of a jumbled unit at a Store and Lock It, but slowly it has become home.  There is still a lot to be done…but some things will just have to wait.

After trips to half a dozen doctors, prescriptions and pain injections, x-rays and therapy, we are now informed medical consumers.  All this accumulated knowledge has told us what we knew at the start:  Larry has a bad back and I have a bad hip.  He seems to have come through the worst of it for right now, but I am not going to get any better unless I have joint replacement surgery.

It’s sobering to think that a doctor (think Doogie Howser) is going to cut into my body, amputate the ball at the top of the femur and replace it with a shiny silver knob, put a new piece into the hip socket, then glue it all back together.  It’s a thought that sent me to the internet to do some research.   I checked out the surgeons in the area, spoke with some people I know who have had joint replacement, and plunged ahead.  First I checked on therapies that might extend the life of my own hip.  When I settled on a doctor I’d want to know about those options; maybe I just need a little WD-40?

My choice of doctor was somewhat influenced by proximity.  In my particular case I only have relief from this maddening pain when I lie flat out; sitting upright for any length of time becomes excruciating.  Having already made a few trips stretched out in the back of our van I decided trips for tests, exams and whatever else they might require of me meant I needed to be able to get there in a short amount of time.  Fortunately we have some excellent joint replacement surgeons right here, so I don’t feel I am sacrificing quality for convenience.

Finally the day arrived for my first appointment with the surgeon.  His staff was excellent, and he took a great deal of time to explain things and answer my long list of questions.  It soon became apparent my WD-40 treatment was not an option.   In fact there were only two:  I could continue to struggle through my daily life using a cane and/or walker with this permanent grimace on my face OR I could get on with the joint replacement surgery.    I have opted for the latter. 

So far I’ve been through tests to determine if I’m healthy enough for surgery (I am), and a meeting to answer questions, discuss services and simply allay fears of the procedure (I am more than ready).  I’ve asked my questions and settled the answers in my mind.  Let’s roll.

I hope by letting you in on my experience it might help someone who’s facing the same type of surgery feel just a little more comfortable when the time comes.   I will be completely honest about the pain level and recovery.  I’m curious about how it will feel to have a foreign object doing the job of the original equipment.  Will it feel “natural”?  How many of the people I see striding around have artificial joints?  I know one thing for sure, after four months of living in bed, in a recliner, or struggling to walk on a cane, I am ready to reclaim my quality of life.  I do not want to live from one pain pill to the next and modify my life to accommodate my deteriorating hip any longer.  

Having always been an active person it’s difficult to confine your shopping excursions to stores that have the electric carts or wheel chairs to make your trip even possible.  Constant pain not only alters your life, but the life of your spouse.  My husband’s patience and thoughtfulness are amazing, but I don’t want my problem to dictate his

life as well.  I am grateful that my surgery may restore both our independence and my semi-good humor!

So….one week from today (Monday, July 27^th) I will be taking the plunge.  I will keep you posted on the experience, and if you should talk to God today please mention my name.

                                                                Life is Good

A Wave of Nostalgia

One of the very best things about a vacation is eating out....it is also one of the worst things. On a recent time away we must have hit half the restaurants on the east coast. I'm pretty sure we ate our combined weight in sea food and deep fried critters, which we washed down with drinks bearing cutsey-pootsie names and horrendous price tags.  It's our vacation tradition.

It seems to me the thing restaurants in the Sunbelt share is the choice of background music. There are only two types; reggae and sixties music. If your head isn't bobbing to the beat of the steel drums you are destined to relive the 60's with the Beach Boys. The sixties music is so well enforced that you simply cannot escape it.  As we patiently waited for a table in one establishment a man was overcome by an overdose of "Help Me Rhonda...help, help me Rhonda...." and had to be taken away by ambulance.  It was a long vacation....I've seen things.  

The marketing gurus understand a large portion of the buying public in Florida remembers the 1960's, so the overwhelming devotion to nostalgia isn't confined to just the music.  In so many restaurants, chains and local, the walls are covered with, for lack of a better term, old stuff.  License plates, old tin containers, children's toys, album covers and an impressive number of '57 Chevy car parts seem to be popular decorating items.  There are also an inordinate number of life sized pirate statues, all strategically surrounded by speakers blaring one of only four 60's songs allotted to each restaurant.  This constant assault on the senses has made me wonder what people will be looking at, and listening to, on vacations years and years down the road...........

It's 2065 and we've finally arrived in Sun City, our favorite spot at the sea shore.  We've come in January to see the ocean before the heat converts it to its normal gelatinous state.  Industrial chemicals and waste have made the water unusable and impassable, except for huge transport vehicles that hover over surface. Nothing edible can be taken from the water, even during the liquid times of year.  Still, we are looking forward to enjoying the artificially produced "sea food".

Another reason our family unit likes to come to Sun City in January is for the races.  What fun it is during "Unsustainable Energy Race Week", when we get to see old cars, trucks and motor bikes from the turn of the century run on the track at Daytona.  During this week the vehicles that ran on combustible fuels are permitted to be shown and raced; it's fascinating to see how our great grandparents got from place to place.  Personally, we cannot comprehend being confined in such a small thing for hours on end!  Give me the transport tubes any day, even if your ears ring for an hour after you get where you're going.

Meals are a special treat for us when we visit the seaside.  We always chow down on lobster capsules, beef-like pastes and crunchy compressed vegetable wafers.  From time to time we invest in a bottle of delightful water....it's a splurge we only make on vacation.  Someone told me water is delightful when it's been chilled, so we will try that this year.

One of our favorite restaurants here in Sun City is "Surrogate Mother's Kitchen".

The cheery nostalgic decor features historical items that everyone can identify with.  In one area you'll see a large shelf displaying a collection of computer towers.  It’s surrounded by an artful grouping of hand held cell phones, the type used before chips were implanted.   Everyone loves to watch the wall of old computer screens, still in good working order after all these years.  They show a constant loop of things that have become extinct.  Green trees in the wild, clear water running from a metallic kitchen tap in a private home, old fashioned washing machines sloshing away and sail boats out on water that is truly liquid and seemingly clear.  It almost makes one wish for the good old days.  From time to time an old time car or delivery truck will lumber across a screen.....we laugh and laugh.

In the front lobby of the restaurant there is a sealed case of items made of paper!  In case you didn’t know, years ago people used paper for cleaning and eating.  They also drank various liquids from plastic bottles, and were allowed to throw this stuff away anywhere they chose!  What a strange and confusing world it must have been.  To explain these destructive rituals we've rented the ear bud lecture series for our singly permitted child, Jaka. When our child comes of age, and decides his/her sexual identity, it will be important to know about these things to insure the next generation won't make the same mistakes our ancestors did.

As our clinically reproduced imitation seafood is delivered by the service drone, we can't help but be swept back to a simpler life listening to old time music by Kanye West, Jay-Z and Lady Ga-Ga.  Now those were great singers and role models!  Enjoying the music, I experienced a moment of sadness as I remembered how our much loved leader, President Ga-Ga, died in office just five years ago.  Her passing, from injuries sustained during the filming of a political music video, was a national tragedy.  

This vacation trip has been such a wonderful time away from the grinding ten hour work week;  I think we may apply for a permit to return to this area again next year.  The excitement of Race Week and seeing the ocean actually move is truly worth the money.

                                              Life is Good

Listen Closely....

I started my morning by treating myself to a luxurious McDonald’s egg white/English muffin sandwich and a plastic bottle of milk.  Something sticky oozed from one side of the paper wrapped sandwich.  While I’m assuming it was some kind of imitation cheese or something,  I refused to ask.

Anyway, one of the best things to do when you find yourself in a McDonald’s early in the morning is eavesdrop on the conversations that bounce around you.  As I sat looking at my iPad I was actually paying more attention to the conversation the four older men were having at the table beside me.

Let me say first that the reason all of us ended up in a McDonalds early in the morning is because we were all obviously retired.   These guys were older than I, but then I’m not exactly looking for the 20 year warranty on things I purchase these days, either.

When I first became aware of their conversation it was about cars, and tires, and how the guy four condos down tries to impress everyone with his car, even though it’s not a Cadillac.  Much to the chagrin of the four fellas discussing him, it seems the guy just put a “pretend” tire on the back of his car to jazz it up.  “And”, the one fella leaned in to say, “He bought the thing at a garage sale”.  They all nodded knowingly.

Eventually the group tired of bashing the guy from four condos down and the conversation turned to women.  One guy in a plaid shirt and a bad comb over shared the fact that he had been on a first date with a lady, and he was looking forward to seeing her again.  The guy on his left shook his head from side to side and intoned, “You’d be better of getting a job to keep you busy.”   Plaid shirt took a lot of abuse from his friends, and I was hard pressed to keep from choking on my egg white sandwich as it began to sound more like a locker room full of sophomore boys.

Slurping down the last of my plastic jug of white milk, I gathered my things and headed to the door.  I gave a last glance over the late 70’s/early 80’s group of men as I exited.  While it’s not polite to eavesdrop on conversations, I’m glad I did. 

I’m passing this on to those of you who are taking care of elderly parents.  Hearing these fellas chiding one another just reinforced what I learned as I helped my own parents during their last years.  We age outside, but we do not change inside. 

If you are caring for an elderly female, remember she is still a woman, an elderly man still a man.  Recently I was deleting some pictures from my phone when I found one from my daughter.  One day last August she spent the afternoon with her grandmother.  At the end of the day she sent a picture of mom with the caption, ‘Our hair is combed, our nails are done, and we are ready for the day!’  Mom sat smiling in her recliner, looking as if some first class primping had made her day.  I remember she told me about it many times over the next days. 

Always try to remember whether your loved one is still living alone or in a nursing home, they’re still the same person inside their weathered exterior.  Why should it be any less acceptable for a 75 year old to be excited about a second date than a twenty year old?  I gave myself a mental kick for being ‘amused’ at the conversation.

I don’t believe the need to be loved and accepted has an end date.  On the other hand, perhaps it does…it expires when we do.

                                                               Life is Good

Having a Kodak moment

Since my mom’s death organizing has taken on a new meaning.   Certainly it is part and parcel of “I don’t want my children to have to do this”, but it’s more than that.   It has slowly dawned on me that I’m the last one standing.   If I don’t get some of the (literally) hundreds of photos in order and labeled with the names of the subjects, much of my children’s family history will disappear when I do.

My goal is to create an electronic set of all pictures for each of my kids so I can pass the actual pictures, clippings, etc. on to people who would appreciate having them.  My mom kept everything, so I have newspaper clippings, photographs, even funeral cards, that might add to someone else’s family history. 

And so it was with respect for today’s technology and an honest understanding of my un-technical nature (I am the family test-dummy)  that I set out to find a way to handle these photos.   I looked at iPhone/iPad software…too work intensive to do these one at a time.   I checked out chute fed photo scanners…financially impractical. There is a company to whom you can send the whole lot and they scan them and return them to you on a nice, silver disc.  My own deeply held beliefs about Murphy’s Law keep me from trusting these cherished photos to the US Postal Service.

Finally my son Brian, the family keeper of technical knowledge, located a little scanner on line called a Doxie.  For just about a hundred dollars he picked up this handy gadget that is simple enough for me to operate (the biggest consideration) and makes the scanning process a breeze.  I’ve scanned three hundred photos so far, and now I am in the process of learning the software to see just how much editing capabilities it might have.   So far I’m impressed!

This project will go on for months in my spare time. By turns I’ve dissolved into giggles and tears as I go through mom’s old photos.  I am touched by the young couple who became my parents; struck by my mom’s beauty and my dad’s good looks, not to mention his head of black, crisply curly hair.  Their obvious joy at being a newly married couple is evident in a photo of mom leap frogging over my dad’s shoulders.  There are pictures of their friends, young and strong and holding babies who grew up to be my friends.  Most of my parent’s friends are gone now, or in nursing homes. 

This little project reminds me that each person with whom we come in contact is a chapter in the story of our lives.  I’m at the point now where many of these chapters are now closed; I know how their stories ends.

There are rewards for doing this…I’ve discovered some real treasures in this box.  I truly do not believe I ever saw my dad’s mother smile.  She’s been gone a lot of years, but I’m betting this picture of her with a sweet smile on her face was a treasure to my dad.  I found pictures with mom’s scrawl, “my best buddy”, a cousin she talked about often.  Another photo simply bears the last name of a young soldier to whom she was engaged when she met my father.  I think that must have been tucked into this old box to be pulled out occasionally as an ‘I wonder what would have been if…’ photo.  I am curious about the conversation that might have started if I had only taken the time.

One photo of my dad, circa 1945, shows him sharply dressed in a top coat, the scarf knotted around his neck looks quite dashing; I didn’t think Pop ever owned any dressy clothes.  So much of my parent’s young lives is displayed as I go through these pictures; I wish I had gone through them years ago when I could have asked the questions that now tumble around in my head.

The older I get the more I believe in looking for the lesson in every event. This heap of old pictures left to me is a reminder that nothing lasts forever.   The lesson gleaned from that is spurring me to plan a family soup night that will include soup, home baked bread and old photos.  It’s high time we have this session before my children find themselves sitting alone with pictures that hold so many questions… and no one the provide the answers.

                                                       Life is Good

What's the Magic Word?

I am constantly amazed as I read the news about all the computer hacking going on.  Countries invading the data banks of other countries….disgruntled employees laying out the emails of their supervisors for public consumption…banks and credit card companies drained of their data banks full of private customer information.  It’s scary, and I’m jealous.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not want your social security number or your private medical information or your credit history….I simply want to get into my Pottery Barn account!!

No company in the world works harder to get my money than Pottery Barn.  I get a catalog every other day, daily emails and special offers to tempt me.   A while back I received the sacred on-line promise that my bill is secure and available for my perusal if I simply snuggle comfortably into the security blanket of their website.  It’s like family…only with less cooking.

After thumbing through the newest every other day catalog I discovered their over-sized, over-priced, over-the-top couch pillows were now 20% off!!  Imagine my delight when I remembered I had points, or whatever they call them, to use that would save me even more money.  Halle-shopping-leujah!!!

I vaguely remembered doing it before; to find out how many points I had  I decided to take a look at my on-line, secure from the outsider but accessible to me, bill.   Evidently I had checked in from my laptop; now I was trying to gain entrance on my iPad and the site did not recognize my computer.  Following the instructions I went through the steps to fix that; they emailed me a “code number” which I dutifully entered in the appropriate pulsating square.  They didn’t like that.   I did it again and was told….well, I forget what I was told, but it didn’t work either.

Totally frustrated, I opened my laptop to try again.  Perhaps I’ve awakened the Troll under the bridge with my iPad; using my laptop will surely quiet the beast and allow me entrance to the kingdom.

Clicking the proper places and holding my tongue just right, I was taken aback when I was once again denied access.  The next step was to answer identifying questions that, once answered correctly, would put things to right.  Problem is I don’t remember filling out any questions.  The result was predictably negative.  Eventually I ran out of patience before they did, and I gave up.

As of this date I’ve still been unable to access my account on line.  That means I will have to call the “customer care” number and, after listening to a 40 minute flute solo, explain my problem to someone who will chirp apologies at me and finally fix the problem.  Somewhere in the labyrinth of offices that make up the Pottery Barn dynasty I know there is a huge reset button.   Once that sacred button is pushed I will be able to access my bill online, figure out how many points I have, and rake in the savings.

   

I heard on the news that there will be a big internet summit in Washington that brings together the greatest minds from companies like Apple, Microsoft, Google and others.  These mental giants will try to come up with a solution to the hacking problem as they ponder the complexities of creating a firewall that cannot be penetrated by our enemies, both foreign and domestic.  I wish them luck as they work to keep the World Wide Web safe for financial transactions and internet porn.  

Frankly I think they’d do much better (and save the tax payers money) if they turned the whole thing over to Pottery Barn.  I’m sure PB is prepared to deflect any cyber-attack while offering America what it really needs…more decorating help. 

                                                       Life is Good