My Senior year of High School, I was voted “Most Likely To Get Drunk and Stick Cheetos In Her Mouth To Resemble Small Orange Tusks”.
✔️
Accomplished in 1994 in Houston after a night of tequila shots.
To get be honest, I wasn’t honored with the title, but yes, I did the deed. It was at the height of my asshat period. I was young, thin, my career was zooming, I had the metabolism of a blast furnace. I could eat a One-A-Day vitamin with iron and fart nails 30 minutes later. Now, if I eat anything with any amount of spice or eat after 4pm, I have heartburn as hot as a blast furnace.
I was well-prepped for the ravages of aging by my paternal grandmother, a sweet, kind sole. Her life was one of those conundrums: her life was privileged and difficult at the same time. She and my grandfather divorced with immense acrimony in the late 50’s. Can’t you just see the Lifetime TV movie promo?
“Divorce: Scandal In A Small South Texas Town”, starring Candace Cameron Bure and new Hollywood heartthrob, Bolt Action”
She never remarried, bless her heart. She used to rub her hands together in a futile attempt to banish the painful arthritic culprit. She would say, “getting old isn’t for the weak”. As a newly minted 65-year old, I concur. I understand this woman more now. She flew “home” in 1983. I miss her.
Now, I promise there is a reason for this rambling fakakta prelude. But first, allow me to bore you with a backstory, one in which I’ve whined about here on several occasions. In 1991, four days after turning 32, I was bound for San Antonio on Interstate 10; a passenger in a classic Texas pickup. I fell asleep shortly after leaving Houston; the driver fell asleep an hour later. It was a whole thing—a bridge was involved, cruise control, a semi dry creek bed 35 feet below- me breaking 11 major bones on my right side.
He (the driver) walked away with a few cuts on his hand and forehead. I hobbled away scarred but with a chunk o’change , courtesy of the Personal Injury Clause in his insurance policy. Even with the blood money, the first two years was grueling—corrective surgeries, additional procedures, relearning how to walk and trying to understand how and why it happened. I’ve gone from why me, to why not me. Don’t be fooled by my self-applied enlightened shpiel. I’m no Kierkegaard, but it was in every way, an easier route with which to live. It worked…eventually.
I have a fairly benign case of Multiple Sclerosis. But it, along with opportunist osteoarthritis, has made walking very difficult and extremely painful in recent years. I’ve tried not to let impede on aspects of my life. I mean, with all due respect to late actor, Richard Boone, ‘have cane, will travel’ but after a trip abroad this past November, I realized something HAD to be done, before it got to a point in which nothing COULD be done.
I can no longer deal with this misery. So, long story short, armed with frustration and a Medicare coverage, I’m having a complete knee replacement on June 20th. The slicing and dicing begins at seven in the AM. An ankle replacement is tentatively scheduled for the fall. I’ve never heard of that procedure. I know no one who’s had it. But I’m assured by my most compassionate orthopedist, a charming native of Monterrey, Mexico that it’s done all the time and it is life changing.
I
cannot
wait.
In fact, when meeting with my surgeon’s scheduler, I was elated. I think I was her first patient to ever to be giddy about booking an OR. Not only that, I’m fully prepared to endure post surgical pain and that which accompanies physical therapy, just to be able to walk up a few stairs without wailing like a common banshee.
In conclusion, my life is in its “third act”. My expiration date approaches each day that passes. Now, is the time. I want a return to quality of life. I no longer want to limp, ache or try silly relief creams, supplements, special wrist bracelets or amulets. I’d fare better drinking Tana leaf tea. It worked for Lon Chaney, Jr.
However, a few weeks ago I was introduced to Toradol, a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory wonder drug, okayed for use in 1989. I received a shot in that in the fleshy acreage upon which I sit and two injections of hyaluronic acid, directly into my knee and ankle. That, in combination with Celebrex and Tramadol, I felt absolutely no pain—the first time since 1991. The injections started working in a few minutes.
I wanted to hug Dr. B while simultaneously accuse him of sorcery. This magical cocktail of injections and pills was glorious. “Was” because pain returns with a vengeance after four to five days. But even as temporary as it is, being pain free even briefly added months to my life.
As for my grandmother? She died in her sleep. Her death certificate says the cause was a massive heart attack. I don’t know if she died in pain, but she certainly lived with it. Sadly, she only had access to the pain management limitations of early 1980’s pharmacology. But as she said, “getting old isn’t for the weak”. It isn’t. It works so much better when being pro-active, finding the right physician, being honest with yourself and if you’re lucky, having a solid support system.
Someone once wrote, “We all have to get old, but we don’t have to be old!”.
If you too are in chronic pain, it’s called Toradol by Pfizer. It’s not without its controversy, supporters and naysayers, but it works for me.
I think it’s the Annie Sullivan of anti-inflammatories.
