Back at it

Like millions of Americans, I suffer from lower back problems. Over the last 10-15 years the issues in my back have progressed... mostly because I have chosen to largely ignore the 'twinges' and carry on. Bill thinks I'm very stubborn. I prefer to think of myself as 'determined'.  I just like to get things done and I never expect others to help, and I hate asking for help even more. I figure if it's my problem/project, I'll do it. 

Maybe it's because I grew up on a farm where everyone was expected to pull his/her weight. Whether it was lifting bales or mucking out stalls, climbing ladders or fixing fences, I never assumed someone stronger was going to help me.  Plus, my 5'2" and 100 pounds mother was the perfect role model of self-sufficiency. If something had to be done, she'd be in the thick of it (with her wig firmly affixed and her pink lipstick perfectly applied). I took my cue from her (minus the hair and makeup). 

So despite a problematic back, I continued doing all the stuff I love -  like boxing drills in the gym.  Throwing punches and hearing that glorious smack when I made perfect contact with the mitt was music to my ears. Hitting something released so much tension.  But, that twisting and reaching always made my back ache afterwards. Soon, I had to to reconcile with myself that the satifsaction of hitting something hard did not outweigh the pain I endured later. Boxing had to stop.  

Playing squash also wreaked havoc on my back. The game is all about sudden stops and starts, twisting and bending. I love the game, so much so that I replaced both my knees in 2017 in order to continue playing. Unfortunately, the spine cannot be replaced.  I stopped playing last year. 

So, my main physical activities have been reduced to gardening (or as I refer to it "farming-lite")  and swimming. And, before you scoff at considering gardening as a physical activity, please note that I cut and haul wood, dig holes, plant and move trees, build elevated gardens, compost, and rearrange huge pots. It's real labor and, for me, being outside and shifting things around in the garden is when I'm happiest.  However, last December, when I was trying to save an Arborvitae from bending over on itself (because it was heavily laden with snow), I managed to damage my back and ended up on steroids throughout the Christmas holidays.  I recovered, but with lingering pain all through the spring. 

Luckily, summer was around the corner and, with it, my favorite sport of all: swimming! It is one of the best forms of exercise and its low impact make it ideal for someone like me. Once summer came, I couldn't wait to jump back into the water.  This year, I decided to get recertified in scuba diving. I have been diving since I was 18 years old, but I lost my NAUI card (proof of certification ) somewhere in Belize. I needed a refresher anyway, so I signed up for classes this summer. After completing all the course work and the pool work, the last hurdle was the open water dive.

So, three weeks ago (Aug 13) , if you happened to be at Windmill Point Quarry in Fort Erie, Canada at 7 a.m.,  you would have seen a 62 year old, bathing suit clad woman hauling equipment out of her car and carrying it to the water's edge.  The 7mm wet suit (7 pounds), the buoyancy compensator vest (5 pounds), the tank (30 pounds), mask, snorkel, regulator,  and the weight belt (25 pounds) all had to be set up, checked out, and then donned. Once the equipment was finally on (did I mention it was SEVEN a.m. - oh! and it was raining!) the last step was to put on my fins by crossing one foot over the opposite knee (while standing), holding on to my  buddy for support, and then shoving my foot into the fin and tightening at the heel. Sounds easy - it ain't. Especially when you have an extra 55/60 pounds on your poor aching body.  By the time I made my giant stride into the water I was exhausted and my back was screaming.

As I bobbed in the water with the other divers waiting to move through the first exercises, my anxiety level became seriously amped. My breath was ragged, my heart was racing, and I couldn't calm my nerves. The 25 pound weight belt was sitting right on my lower back.  I went back and forth in my head: You can do this, ya' wimp / You're going to seriously injure yourself / You're not a quitter, suck it up / Do you seriously want to die in a rock quarry? / You're here now, you've done all the hard stuff, finish it /  You will be no help to your buddy this way... etc, etc. 

I finally decided to abort the dive, swam over to the edge of the quarry, crawled up the rock ledge and hauled myself out. Initially, I felt really ashamed. I am not a quitter. But, once I got into my car and started the drive home, my brain began to play out the potential consequences of continuing the dive. None of the scenarios were positive. I made the right decision.

The pain increased and my doctor precribed another steroid regimen. That seemed to control it, so when I finished the meds I started physical therapy. But, the pain soon returned and another steroid pack was started. Then something got triggered on August 20 - I wasn't doing anything weird, but something just went 'twang' in my back and the pain was absolutely excrutiating. I'm talking full- on labor pain equivalent. Sharp and unrelenting. I couldn't find any position where I felt comfortable. 

The next day I had an MRI, and an epidural was given in my lower back.  For a brief, beautiful period of time I was pain free. Turns out that was merely the result of the lidocaine that was administered prior to the epidural. I was advised that sometimes the epidural takes a few days to take hold. While the pain had lessened to the point where I could find a comfortable position to sleep for a couple of hours (blessed relief), the numbness in my leg and foot, and the sharp pain in my butt told me that the epidural was not going to do the trick. It was time to schedule surgery. 

So, tomorrow I am having a minimally invasive procedure to relieve the pain. The neurosurgeon explained the process and he is confident I will find relief. I have full confidence in him and in the process. 

But, at this precise moment, I am less concerned about the procedure and more worried about the recovery period. You see, I have a wedding to attend in a week. It's a four hour car ride from here and I'm told I'll have to stop every 1/2 hour or so to adjust my position. Oh, and I can't drive. That'll be up to Bill. 

You may be saying to yourself at this point -  what is wrong with her? Man, Bill is right - she is stubborn! Has she learned nothing from all this? Why would she attend a wedding so close after her surgery? 

 Well, you see... I can't miss it - I'm the mother of the bride.