Monday, February 14, 2022

 Monday, February 14, 2022

 

   I slept well. I woke up feeling lonely. As I lay in bed, I felt I had lost all unconscious memory of Mike’s presence; he was no longer in this house. I also dwelled on all that was going wrong in relationships I relied on, and I couldn’t see how to find others I could make part of my daily life. I need people I belong to. Once I was up and about, it got better. I just went about my business. Fortunately, I still have some business in this world. Like many older people, I depend on my TV family. I got into a series called Sweet Magnolias. There aren’t too many downright distressing moments. When they come on, I fast-forward through them. There is more evidence of love, caring, and mutual support than conflict. I watch videos at night. Occasionally, I’ll turn a particularly comforting one on during the day for a few minutes to feel better.

   My blog numbers were back up this morning. Yesterday morning, they were low, only 81 visits. I thought, “I’m even losing this.” When I checked today, yesterday’s number was 240 hits. Today, Romania was a big hitter. Romania? No one from Romania had ever shown up before. My visitor numbers are vulnerable because most don’t read my blog because they enjoy it; they read it because it’s been assigned by a teacher. It’s a course requirement. How do I know? Today, out of nowhere, 99 Romanians signed on. After some time, all 99 will disappear at about the same time. That’s what makes me think reading the blog is a class assignment. Sometimes, a large group will suddenly appear and then disappear just as fast. I had over 2,000 hits from Israelis one day, and they were all gone the next. I have no idea why that happens. Those here-today-gone-tomorrow numbers are probably a computer glitch. Those numbers from class assignments stick around longer.

   I had an appointment with Katie this morning. I made it in plenty of time. I told her I thought the problem with my foot was coming from my back. She checked my spine and said the same thing Terry said. It was much better than she ever expected it to be. I shared the theory that some of my problems resulted from fixing existing problems. She expressed concern about pushing me too far. I told her I was aware of the risk. Jean, my hanai sister, never did anything to improve her posture and just had back surgery. There’s risk either way. I’d rather take my risks by trying to fix the problem. So far, whenever I hit a glitch where my body is in trouble because of a change I made, I get scared that I’m at the end of the road. So far, the problems have been resolved, and I wound up better than before.  

   I told her I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. Katie has been discouraging me from surgery. While I have no cartilage in my hip, she feels that THP currently won’t work for me because I’m so turned in rather than neutral or out. While there is reason to believe the current problem may be coming from my back, surgeons will want to do a THR because they have evidence of a problem in that area. There is. But that didn’t mean it was the cause of the peripheral issues with my foot and my glutes. 

   Katie gave me two new exercises. In one, I lie flat on my back, push my left leg out until it hurts, then pull it back a smidgen and lie there for 3 minutes. The goal is to stretch the connective tissue. When I walked later in the day, I could feel the impact of that single session.

   The second exercise was to lie on my stomach. Doing that opens the hip joints and relaxes the back muscles. Katie also reminded me of two previously recommended exercises: pinching my shoulder blades together and neck stretches. She gave me an exercise to strengthen my turn-out muscles. I push my legs out against resistance. Terry upped it by providing me with a grey T-band to wrap around my legs when I did the exercise.   

   I had some insight into my reaction to the chiropractor’s receptionist. Let’s be clear; I found her delightful in all my other contacts with her. My best guess is that she doesn’t do well when delivering bad news like you missed your appointment. Therefore, she does the chore in the most utilitarian way possible. “Hello, Betty. You missed your appointment this morning. We have to reschedule.” Now, let’s be clear this was a perfect storm for me. A) I missed the 8 am chiropractic appointment I was looking forward to, and b) I had a second appointment at 8:30. Her declaration that my appointment was canceled made it sound like she had canceled both. (I got some confirmation that is what she had done later.) 3) I was not in good shape. 4) Her voice was officious. I am sure I heard her dislike of the task in her voice. However, my body-brain heard disdain. 

  How could she have done it differently? She could have started expressing concern for me. “Hey, Betty. Are you okay? You forgot your 8 am with the doctor. Are you going to be in for your 8:30, or should I cancel that too?” That would have been nice. Whatever else, we both were traumatized by the exchange.

    I messed up in Wordle today. I recognized a spelling pattern and didn’t register that the letters were in the wrong slots. Yes,- icy is a common ending, but not in this particular word.

       While I was sitting in my chair, I examined my feet. I bent my left foot inward and compared it to my right foot. My left ankle was puffier than my right. I thought the ankle problem had been resolved and moved into the foot. It became clear that was not the case. I iced my foot and ankle while I watched Sweet Magnolias. I checked; there were only two seasons.

     I will be done with the T series soon. In the meantime, it was just what the doctor ordered, a story for close friends and family that work together to make a life. The show includes enough rough spots to make it sound realistic. Then there are moments of downright meanness. I fast-forward over those. I have no tolerance these days.

 

Musings:

  What does personal mean? This is a phrase people bandy about. “It’s not personal.” I have two problems with his expression. Telling the parents of Ahmaud Arbery that his death at the hands of three white men wasn’t personal is outrageous. Their loss is personal. Very personal

   The second application of this expression is the argument that they weren’t attacking Ahmaud; they were only attacking a black man because they were prejudiced. I think his blackness is part of who he is as a person. 

        My age is part of me as a person. If someone rejects me because of my age, 81, I consider that personal. If you ask me who I am, I would say I am an 81-year-old white woman who is widowed, retired in Hawaii, a card-carrying Catholic, first-generation American of direct German descent of parents in a mixed marriage, Jewish and Lutheran, of liberal-leaning, well off, verbal, outgoing and direct, who continues to teach and develop methods for teaching reading. These are all personal characteristics. I don’t know if I managed to list them all. I keep thinking of others. If I am attacked or shunned for any of those characteristics, it’s personal because this is who I am. Most of those are immutable. The only one that is fairly easy to change is where I live. I could move back to the mainland. I don’t consider moving to another country an easy move. I have a strong identity as an American, whether I agree with what is going on politically or not. That would be a hard shift. The move might be possible, but my identity not so much.

   We can say something is personal in effect and personal in intent. If shunned or injured, no less killed, the result is personal. Mike’s death impacted me personally. I do not feel there was any personal intent. I do not think Mike chose to die rather than be with me. I don’t feel like my mother died rather than be with me. There is no personal intent behind they’re leaving me, but I do suffer from the loss. That’s personal.