The first point is easy to explain: She was supposed to go for a routine test and has been dragging her heels on it for five years. It's a little invasive, and I think she's hoping Merck will invent something to render it moot. So I told her I would see the doctor when she took the test. You'd think her concern for her beloved hubby would get her motivated, but no. In fact, I think this rank blackmail has caused her to dig in her heels more.
The second point is stranger: The doctor is not in. Our GP's office is there, his people are doing prescription refills as they can, but he's been gone for more than a month. He's no kid, and he's a big chap, so I'm thinking knee replacement, but who knows? HIPAA rules apply to him too, so no one will tell us. I could go to another doctor, but he's got all the records; besides, I'm sure he'd be referring me to a specialist and I believe I need his sign-off for insurance purposes. So, I soldier on.
Yesterday I almost didn't. It wasn't too bad in the morning, but I was down at a church meeting and got pressed into service with the other able-bodied men to form a chain to pass sixty-pound boxes from the storage area to the food pantry distribution site outside for their Christmas rush. And they had a lot of boxes. Dozens of them. Maybe close to a hundred. It didn't hurt that much at the time, but later I was feeling it.
In the afternoon my wife left for an important appointment -- the hair salon; nothing trivial like medical care -- and I and the dogs decided to bake our annual cookies. And when I say I and the dogs, I mean I. Don't worry; no dog hair allowed within twenty feet of my baked goods. But by now I was feeling the pain, and every movement caused me to cuss and whimper alternately, and limp like Gabby Johnson, and despite having bought the ingredients for our sought-after cookies I was ready to chuck the whole thing. I only had to make three batches, but that seemed like climbing a mountain.
Finally I got sick of hearing myself whine, and decided I was either going to shut up and get it done or give up and lie down. I reminded myself that, as the physical therapists say, motion is lotion; it would probably feel better as I went. So that's what I did, and it all came out all right. My wife judged the cookies the best I'd ever made.
So that was how I saved Christmas! Or something. Anyway, I was in agony this morning, but followed the same plan and got better. I hope my doctor comes out of hiding soon, though.
3 comments:
Sorry to hear of the back pain, Fred. In my late 30s I had episodes so debilitating that the floor was the most comfortable place to be. MDs gave me meds that helped the pain (thank you, Percocet), but did not address the root problem. I finally hooked up with a good chiropractor (more of a physical therapist) who got me mobile again after a few weeks and was able to drop the meds. Started light strength training after that, and got better and better with time. Even got to the point of serious weightlifting in my 40s and 50s. I still do a lot of lifting at 66, and the back pain has never returned. Fatigue, yes, but pain, no. Hope your doctor reappears soon and you can get some relief. Merry Christmas to you and yours!
Thanks, Mongo! Now I know how you are able to punch out horses.
soldier on
That gives mew an earworm, and it describes the effects once the medicine kicks in.
I can see a new horizon underneath the blazin' sky
I'll be where the eagle's flying higher and higher
Gonna be your man in motion, all I need is a pair of wheels
Take me where my future's lyin', St. Elmo's fire
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