Spring has sprong and so has my back. After a month of limping and climbing stairs one leg at a time as if I had a priceless tea cup on my head, I saw my doctor. He sent me for an MRI which was done at 8:30 at night. (There is something very creepy about medical procedures occurring after normal business hours.) When the doctor called with the results he seemed in awe of the collapsing cartilage, advanced degenerative arthritis and scar tissue. This is a man who had replaced my left knee twice within a matter of weeks so he should have been prepared for havoc.
I am fervently hoping to avoid further back surgery. I had two disks removed 20 years ago. My husband wasn't a 'hands on' attendant'. I was flat on my back, stranded in the guest room. He would check on me before he went to work and when he returned asked if I might need something. I learned a valuable lesson, when surgery looms, keep a jar of peanut butter and a bag of prunes by the bed.
The big 65 is just around the corner. I had hoped to be in better shape. Optimism is for the young. I feel like an old car swaying down the road with bits and pieces falling by the wayside. A muffler here, a rusted bumper there, the rest is duct taped. And there is an 18 wheeler bearing down on me at warp speed.
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