And So the Lupangeezer Life Goes Up and Down
One day during the summer I decided that the therapy I was receiving had reached the point where it was a waste of my time. I do remember that it was the day that the young lady working with me opined that she did not consider my knee replacements to be “prostheses.” Having experienced “periprosthetic osteolysis” as the result of an autoimmune response caused by debris from the first prosthesis, I decided that it was time for me to part company with her.
The complex constructions of metal and plastic that have forced me to step out of line and take the “pat down” on every trip by plane since 9-11 are most definitely prostheses. When I travel with my daughter it can be hilarious that she, in her hajib and no skin showing beyond her face and hands gets a pass and I get the pat down. And don’t talk to me about the full body scanners. Every time I step into one of those things a monologue starts in my head that sounds very much like a Dr. McCoy speech on transporters.
Of course by the day I decided to stop going to PT/OT I also realized that most of the exercises I had been given to learn were routine components of aquasize classes. Therefore, I took myself off to aquasize classes at SwimRVA.
I also found a time of the day when I was often the only person in the instructional pool; all of that clear blue water and a lifeguard all to myself. With the music coming through my waterproof mp3 player, I could imagine myself on any low surf beach in the world. I love the water. Between selling my house, trying to really “downsize,” and facilitating the seminar in social inequalities, I did not have not had time for blogging.
Then I got ambitious (cocky and bold) and I experimented with some more intense classes. I tried floor Pilates followed by a deep water class (I told you that intended to play in the big kids pool). I also got my first chance to foster a dog. My foster dog was more perceptive in spotting my physical weaknesses than the vast majority of humans are, including those who have been “trained.” She spotted the weaknesses in my hip flexors and rapidly learned that she could use her quickness to get away from me, especially on inclines. Once, she pulled me into a ravine. Then she caused me to roll down a small hill. Three times she got away from me. If I were into selfies, I definitely would have made one on the night I searched for her all over this complex. I was limping from my sprained back and twisted ankle while making her toy that I named “Baby” squeak. She did not respond to the name given her at the shelter but it only took 15 minutes for her recognize Baby.”
Between the falls engineered by the dog and participation in classes that are too intense for my current level of fitness, I was wiped out. Then I wore the wrong pair of shoes to take the garbage out, a pair with a 1/4 inch build up in the right shoe. That was all it took to send my psoas into its current crisis mode. Those shoes are now gone. The spasm in my left psoas is not.
I am once again knocked down by pain. I do plan to get up again. I also plan to get stronger and to foster another dog. And yes, I hear God laughing in the background.
PS – DON’T RAT ME OUT TO THE COLONEL. HE DECIDED THAT I COULD ONLY HAVE A PAPER CUT OUT OF A DOG. HE WILL BE DISPLEASED.