I turned 72 on Saturday. It was a birthday when I felt my age more than I would have liked. A couple of weeks ago, I aggravated an old lower back injury, trying to do more than I should have. Thought it was resolving, just a bit sore. Then on Wednesday afternoon, after I got back from driving once again into Boston environs to take care of my loose crown (yes, it’s finally tight and stable!), after I sat at my computer for several hours, when I tried to get up, I could hardly stand.
What the . . . ?
It was really quite astonishing. I couldn’t get up easily or sit without pain, couldn’t walk without pain, couldn’t bend over. Called our PCP’s office and spoke with one of the nurses, asked what to do and if I needed a PT referral. She promised to get back to me, but for whatever reason, I did not hear anything, so I called the coverage after hours. That nurse, who, from background noise, appeared to be working from home and a bit distracted, nonetheless read me the notes I hadn’t received: warm compress, lidocaine patches, heating pad, rest, gentle stretching, OTC pain relief. I knew all that already, for the most part, having been through this a few years ago. But followed her suggestions.
Spent the next few days mostly on my back with a heating pad. I was able to visit with friends on the afternoon of my birthday, a very welcome break, and then go out to dinner with Al that evening, but scrapped our plan to see a play matinee on Sunday because my back felt worse again. We’ll make up for it another time.
By Sunday evening, I realized that part of the problem could be the memory foam topper on the bed, which I hadn’t flipped in months—necessary to keep it from getting too squishy, because soft bedding is not good for my back. So Al helped me remake the bed, and Monday morning I was feeling a bit better again. As I write this at my desk, I have the heating pad on my back.
Our geriatrics team called me late last week to follow up and set an appointment with our NP to make a home visit on Wednesday. So that will be my opportunity to review progress and figure out the PT question. I’m glad she can come here, one less drive and office waiting room to sit through. I’m feeling more confident that this, too, shall pass, as my mom used to say (an aphorism that used to drive me crazy, but bears remembering).
Above all, I realized that this birthday’s lesson was all about patience and being realistic about my limits. The older I get, the more relevant it becomes to remember that I need to set some boundaries for myself, even as I do my best to stay healthy and strong. My body is aging, all the more so with scleroderma, and that is just how it is.
At moments like these, I hear T.S. Eliot in my head, from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Here’s to another year. May we all age as gracefully as we can.
Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.
Image: Julien Tromeur
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