“Irony of the day: arthritis medication with a cap that old people can’t get off, because of their arthritis.” ―Kelli Jae Baeli
Let me begin by telling you that I once was a dancer – a ballerina no less. You know, light on my feet, graceful, strong-bodied, agile and limber. Oh, and thin!! I danced well into my 40s until plies became more than my knees could endure. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to realize that my body might have limitations, at least in the ballet department. So, I studied ballroom dancing for a while, using that to fill the emotional and physical void I carried. Then menopause hit, morphing my body into an unrecognizable weight bearing, bosom-laden middle aged matron of sorts. Eventually, I would find out that menopause really didn’t come with any kind of “pause” at all! No, it would just continue on its cruel path of bodily destruction for years to come! Menopause: my very own ‘Katrina’.
Soon after, a stunning thing happened in my early 50s that changed the trajectory of my physical life forever: I moved to California. No, it wasn’t the smog or a car accident or anything I would label a major health crisis. I just moved my life from Portland to San Jose that first involved twelve trips to the Goodwill, then boxing up the remaining items, which still accounted for way too much stuff! Then I paid two sweaty guys to load and unload my furniture and boxes and do the heavy lifting. But no, I couldn’t let them do it alone. Instead, I got right in there and helped these poor souls as if they were close kin with the same genetically bad knees. Up and down three flights of zig-zag stairs, in, out, boxes flying in all directions, plop, bend, lift, shove, squat. None of it was pretty. I had left ‘graceful’ in the car alone with her memories. Then, while I was still buried in boxes days later, it began. My body had had enough. Like a screaming banshee (i.e., a female spirit whose wailing warns of impending death) my bones began to ache as if caught in a vice. My leg and back muscles started twitching as the pain ripped through my still sore body like a bolt of lightning! I thought I had bone cancer, or something worse. My mind raced with gruesome thoughts of amputation, with my career in California ending before it ever began. Indeed, death was near…
Nothing could have prepared me for this kind of pain. I had been lucky enough up to this point to never have a broken bone, serious illness or any real threat to my health. But, this felt different, keeping me from performing my job or even resting in comfort. I called a doctor and went in the next day.
Describing my symptoms to her, pointing out the shooting pain emanating from my right hip down my entire leg, she ordered x-rays. Ten minutes later, I’m lying on a table in a viciously cold room, while the technician went about his work taking x-rays one angle after another. Diagnosis: Mild Osteoarthritis with bone spurs. What? I thought they’d tell me I’d need surgery of some kind, or whatever I had was incurable. No, I had what every aging baby-boomer experiences at some stage: arthritis! Only mine came with bone spurs thrown in as a bonus pain inducer. Now what? Therapy, of course.
What a waste of time and money. I soon realized, after several weeks of PT that unless I had a lifetime of these treatments, I was doomed to live with this pain. I had to continue to work, and my work brought with it certain physical duties that were only exacerbating my condition over and over again. Arthritis isn’t something you cure, I discovered – it’s something you learn to tolerate! This now constant companion was like learning to live with a rude roommate that never knew when to shut up! Morning stiffness turned into afternoon pain which went full circle back to stiffness with a large dose of inflammation in areas where I didn’t think I had joints. But my hip remained the greatest source of discomfort.
I will share with you now that my then “mild” osteoarthritis continued to room with me, despite my efforts to teach her how to treat me. It would be eight more years before I finally did something to evict her, and I’m not through cleaning up her mess yet. More on that later.
Certainly, many of you can read my story and connect the dots back to your own struggles with chronic pain. After all, there are over 50 million Americans who suffer some form of arthritis, including a more serious form, rheumatoid arthritis. We are the burgeoning class of aging baby-boomers who can lay claim to this common step down the evolutionary ladder, as did our forefathers. But now we have Dr. Oz and an entire internet to help educate us on how to ease the pain through proper diet, exercise, medications both natural and over the counter, along with numerous articles covering everything you can think of in terms of help and understanding. I chose surgery. A new hip was in order. My original one was screaming at me to take her out of the game! I enthusiastically complied.
Since then, I always prepare myself for a frisking at the airport after the alarm goes off at security. No weapon on me—just a perfect hip replacement. My painless body can easily tolerate the bells and whistles and a few pat downs. I’m whole again. I just walked through a common ailment meant for us oldies and conquered my pain and suffering. I say—Onward!