Despite Monday feeling colder than the thermometer claimed, after school I grabbed Jeter and headed to the golf course for a walk. It is my goal, you know, to give him the best life a dog has ever known and he needed the exercise. We were greeted by a small herd of dogs, with labradors already well represented, and devoted a few minutes to playtime before heading to one of our favorite wooded trails.
As we walked, I was aware of soreness in my legs from the 15K I had run the previous day. My quads particularly felt tight and I was glad I had made the effort to get out and give them a stretch. My hands, warm in cozy gloves, also felt tight. I’ve really been struggling with jar lids, jewelry clasps and tasks which require dexterity and it’s making me kind of nervous. Unlike my legs which only talk to me after a long or aggressive run, the pain in my hands is unpredictable. Some days I struggle to fasten buttons or Jeter’s leash, while other days I have almost no issues. Sometimes, though, I accidentally bang my hand and the discomfort (see how I try to avoid saying “pain?”) takes my breath away. It’s on the list of topics to discuss at my upcoming physical.
What do you do when your body begins complaining about your actions? Do you work harder to keep things moving? Modify your activities? Address the objections with a pill or two? Maybe you use some magical combination of all of the preceding to muscle through? What are the options when slowing down isn’t a choice?
My bedside manner is seriously lacking. Don’t believe me? Ask my middle child – the one I told to put a Band-Aid on the cut which eventually required 8 stitches. He’ll corroborate my complete fail as a nurse, trust me. The most recent example of my abysmal diagnostic skills occurred last weekend. Let me tell you about it.
Saturday my youngest son was a guest at a birthday party held at Skyzone, a trampoline place in Menands. Sidenote: Waze pronounces Menands “men ands” which cracked us up each time we heard it. Anyway, I arrived to pick him up at the end of the party only to find that he was limping and unable to put any weight on his left leg. I pulled the car up to the door and brought him home where he settled in on the couch. I looked at his leg and noted no swelling or bruising in the area where he said it hurt – the back of calf. He declined Advil or Aleve and seemed fairly comfortable. I diagnosed a “pulled muscle” and figured he’d feel better in the morning.
Sunday morning he woke up and said his leg hurt and rated his pain a 6 on a scale of 1-10. I gave him Aleve and suggested a bath with Epsom salts. Despite my medical care and advice, he continued to hop around the house, something I found more than a little annoying. See? I told you I’m a horrible nurse. He began to soften his stance about not wanting to go to the MD. With his blessing, I called the pediatrician’s office and spoke with the doctor on call asking him how to proceed. He mentioned that the Bone & Joint Center had walk in hours until 3:00 and suggested that as our best move.
We arrived a little after 1:00 and checked in. The waiting room had about a half dozen people in front of us, but we were seen after about 75 minutes, a time span I didn’t find unreasonable. Quinn hobbled to the exam room, pausing to be weighed and measured (he’s a giant, btw) and, after a short wait, a PA came in to examine him. X-rays were obtained and I think we were all surprised to see the fracture in his fibula. The youngest Lilly boy managed to be the first to break a bone.
One red Christmas stocking-esque cast later and we were on our way. The take away?
• I should have heeded the wisdom of E. Stewart Jones who once said to never allow kids to go to trampoline parks or in bouncy houses.
• Broken bones don’t always reveal themselves with swelling, acute pain or discoloring.
• We’re so lucky to have quality health insurance and medical practices that are open on Sundays.
• While I may never receive a special lamp, I did see the light in this case and do the right thing. Just like Quinn’s fibula, I’m getting better.
Each new allegation of sexual harassment brings with it an increased sense of disbelief – not because I doubt the women who are sharing their experiences in such remarkable numbers, but because I can’t help but be curious how so many men could possibly have believed their actions are acceptable. I wonder “who raised them?,” yet must admit that I’ve never had direct conversations with my own sons about boundaries and respect when it comes to physical interactions with others. I suppose I just thought that my children would understand that it is not ok to touch people without invitation. It’s basic, isn’t it?
Speaking of basic, using one’s hands adeptly is such an essential motor skill that I believe most of us take it for granted. You know, when you want to pick something up your brain sends the signal to your hands and they respond by reaching out for and gripping onto whatever it was that you wanted. To be clear, I’m talking about something innocuous like a glass or a pen, not a women’s genitalia or breasts. We’re talking about me now – not Roy Moore or Donald Trump.
Well, in recent months my hands have been less cooperative than Jeff Sessions testifying under oath. The thing is, though, unlike Sessions I can clearly recall how things were, how my hands used to behave…and I’m a bit distressed about it. Some days are better than others and there are times when my hands don’t hurt at all. Other times? The dexterity that I once knew and expected is simply no longer present. My hands ache, particularly in the fleshy area between my thumbs and my wrists, and it feels like my fine motor skills are shot.
So, I’m a bit concerned naturally. Maybe it’s arthritis or a touch of carpal tunnel. I’m not certain, but I’ll be discussing it with the doctor at my next physical in the new year. I can accept my own stiff and uncooperative hands as a natural side effect of getting older, but as far as women continuing to be victimized by men who choose to not maintain control over their own hands? Yeah, that’s something to which I will always throw up my hands. I hope you will, too.
I’ve been so busy doing things and going places that I haven’t had a moment to chronicle any of it. It’s kind of getting me frustrated, but that’s how I typically react to not having what I want – in this case more time. I’ve made some notes and I swear I’m going to carve out some time over Thanksgiving break (See what I did there? Carve??) to share things that I’ve seen (an 80s band, some television and a couple of movies), a couple of books that I’ve recently read, some delicious things I’ve enjoyed eating and drinking, a week focused on health maintenance, and a couple of Albany experiences that I was lucky enough to take in. Stay tuned.
Filed under Albany, art, birthdays, Books, breakfast, Coffee, concerts, Cooking, Dinner, Eating, Events, family, favorites, Food, house, Local, medical, Movies, Music, Observations, Recommendations, Restaurants, road trips
After giving up vitamins and my apparently naturally high in fiber diet for a week, fasting and slamming water all damn day, I was literally brought to my knees yesterday. Yep, my colonoscopy prep was an epic fail due to an excruciating headache that caused me to repeatedly vomit before I could even begin ingesting the Miralax dosed Gatorade. Crap.
I’ve had what I self-diagnosed as migraines occasionally in the past, but not in a very long time. The one that manifested yesterday was the worst one I’ve ever had – it was totally crippling. The headache began midday and, if I hadn’t been on a restricted diet, I would have swallowed a couple of Excedrine and gotten on with my prep. Instead, I continued drinking water and a little lemonade and attempted to move forward with the plan. I took the oral laxatives and hoped for the best…the vomiting began a short time later.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening alternating between bedroom and bathroom, never experiencing the “benefits” of the medication, nor drinking the necessary proscribed fluids. At about 9:00 p.m., I admitted defeat and called the doctor’s office to cancel my appointment.
This morning, instead of being clean as a whistle, I was physically drained in a different way. Moving forward, it looks like I’ll need an in office consult prior to rescheduling my colonoscopy and, more than likely, a visit with my cardiologist prior to the procedure. Oh – and I’ll probably need to have my colonoscopy performed in the hospital since my low blood pressure/heart rate requires more careful monitoring. What a pain in the ass, right?
This whole episode sucked, but it is an excellent reminder to me about the health challenges some folks deal with on a much more frequent basis than I. An inconvenient diet and some puking really aren’t much to endure in the grand scheme of things, right? I’m know that I’m incredibly lucky to be mostly healthy and in possession of quality health insurance. Hopefully things will come out next time just like they’re supposed to.
Filed under aging, medical, sick
Straining my high pulp oj this morning.
If you see me this weekend and I seem a little out of sorts, it might be from eating too much ice cream and pastry. I’m on a diet and limited to a menu of foods that I only truly enjoy in small doses – things like white bread, peanut butter, cookies and ice cream. You know, the diet of a typical two year-old. It’s a low fiber diet and apparently it’s necessary prep for a colonoscopy, something I’m looking forward to having on Monday. Looking forward to as in looking forward to getting it over and done with, that is.
I’m not a dieter. I don’t respond well to being limited, I guess. That being said, I’m an excellent moderator and generally eat pretty well. Breakfast is usually cereal with fruit, oj and coffee. Lunch is a salad or yogurt and fruit and dinner varies between some kind of protein or pasta with veggies. Turns out most of this stuff is fairly high in fiber and, thus, not allowed prior to a colonoscopy. Who knew that my typical diet was an innately high fiber one?
How do people not eat fresh vegetables and salad greens? Or cherries and raspberries in July? It seems that all of my favorite things are verboten and it’s making me cranky. I haven’t eaten canned asparagus since I was a child and, after years of roasting or grilling them, there’s no way I’m ever going back to that soggy mess, so it looks like I’ll be carb loading and sweet toothing it for the next few days. I have no interest in eating canned fruits, Cream of Rice (whatever the hell that is) or lima beans, waffles and ice cream are what it’ll be for the next couple of days.
Anybody have an extra quart of consommé in their freezer? Maybe some bouillon to spare?
Yeah, you. My reader. It’s been more than 7 years, 2 domains and a divorce since DelSo was born. Over the years I’ve shared a lot of my life and self here, in print. You, as a reader, have come to know me on some level from my words. What makes you return here (assuming you’re not new around these parts) and read what I write? Let me remind you of some of what I’ve related to you in the hope that you might feel inclined to share with me – who you are, reader? Why are you here?
There have been so many miles – more plane rides than I could have ever imagined, along with runs and races and road trips. I’ve explored cities with my boys and my girlfriends and solo. My feet have run in a half dozen different countries and probably about the same number of states.
My home has evolved from a house with two full-time parents to one of three part-time children. There have been physical improvements, rooms repurposed and painted, new rugs and furniture rearranged. It feels different. After a refinance or two, I know it’s mine.
I’ve written about books I’ve read and movies and concerts I’ve seen. Increasingly, politics and my dismay with our current leadership have been topics I’ve felt compelled to write about.
My children and the challenges of being a parent frequently provide fodder for posts. While the joys outweigh the frustrations, parenthood remains a roller coaster ride that keeps me on the edge of my seat with a scream threatening to escape. It’s a heart racing ride.
Sometimes I cook or bake and post recipes and photos of the fruits of my labors. Food and wine are a big part of my life and I’ve happily shared my experiences with you. Oh – and there’s that wine bar that I own.
There have been times when I wrote with sadness or anger, but I think I mostly write from a place of understanding and acceptance. Balance and moderation are woven throughout much of what I write.
Health and wellness have been covered and the miracle of menopause has been mentioned. The heartbreak of addiction and the threat of cancer have been present. I’ve learned to ski and have found bliss in pigeon pose in a room heated to 100+ degrees.
It’s all here – my life. Not perfect, not necessarily what I ever imagined it to be, but a life that I feel grateful for in a city that I have come to love.
Will you tell me why you visit my life?
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