health

The First I Never Saw Coming

~ rdicarne ~ 3 Comments

Grief is a ninja who sneaks into your days without warning. I foolishly thought all the “firsts” since Chuck’s passing had come and gone once the anniversary of his death and funeral date had passed. WRONG!

Over the past two weeks, I have been dealing with a health issue.  I am pretty healthy overall, but my skeleton doesn’t always behave the way I would like.  I have spinal stenosis, osteoporosis, and fibromyalgia – a trifecta!  Thankfully, most days are good, but recently I started having groin pain, which was very disconcerting. To put it into context, the last two times I experienced this level of pain, it was discovered that I had pelvic fractures – spontaneous combustion fractures. Even after my most recent DEXA scan came back with normal bone density (after several not-so-good ones and years of treatments), I couldn’t shake the memory of those pelvic fractures.

I took myself to the local orthopedic urgent care, and an X-ray showed no sign of a pelvic fracture, but the PA ordered a CT scan to double-check (my last fracture did not show up on initial X-rays). Those results also came back negative for a fracture. It was certainly a relief not to have a new fracture, but the pain was not budging, and for several days I had to resort to using a walker to get around the house. With no new fractures, I am chalking the pain up to a super ouchy groin pull that I probably caused myself by being too zealous on one of my good days and lifting something I shouldn’t have. For now, my cane is my constant companion, and I will be back at PT on Friday.

My point isn’t to have anyone feel sorry for me or my aches and pains; everyone has their own struggles. Instead, I want to say there are so many “firsts” that have nothing to do with holidays, birthdays, or anniversary dates. This is the first time since Chuck died that I was really not feeling well, and he was not here to support me, to take care of me, to commiserate with me. Don’t get me wrong, my kids and siblings are great and would help me in any way they could or needed to, but it’s just not the same as having your person.

In some ways, entering this second year feels so much worse than it did this time last year.  Last year, I was numb. I moved through my life in survival mode. Now the numbness has worn off, and I feel Chuck’s absence deeply every day, but even more so on the days I need his shoulder to lean on, his words to calm my fears, and his loving touch to reassure me that everything will be okay.

I don’t know how many more “firsts” I will encounter, but I have no choice but to feel the feelings, cry the tears, and remember just how strong I am.

Eye Drops

~ rdicarne ~ 13 Comments

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my ophthalmologist for my yearly check-up after cataract surgery several years ago. I had taken the day off work and felt calm and relaxed when I left the house. Little did I know that the first exam room would trigger me and have me do mindful breathing before seeing the doctor. The tech did preliminary eye checks, including checking the pressure in my eyes. I asked her what my pressure numbers were, and they were great. So, where is the trigger, you ask?

My husband, Chuck, who died in September, also used this practice, although he saw a different doctor. He suffered from glaucoma, and so he was always looking for a good eye pressure number, and we would often compare numbers. Hearing my pressure numbers was enough to bring the tears that fall so unexpectedly these days. I was desperately trying to hold them back until after my appointment.

When the doctor came in and asked me how I was doing, I told her about losing Chuck and how the pressure numbers had set me off. She was very kind, and I made it through the appointment needing only one tissue.

As I was leaving the exam room to go to the front desk to check out, the young woman who was scribing for the doctor said she didn’t want to trigger me again, but that she usually worked with the doctor Chuck saw. She told me that “Chuck was great” and how much she enjoyed it when he visited the office. (He had been going there for years, but hadn’t been there since October 2024.) She also said, “Don’t worry, he won’t be forgotten.”

Now we were both crying, and she asked if she could give me a hug. Through the tears dropping from my eyes, I said that Chuck and I were high school sweethearts, and she said, “I know.” Of course, he had told her; he told everyone, I am now discovering. He was so proud of “us” and of our longevity as a couple and as soulmates.

My joy today is learning of yet another way Chuck brought joy to everyone he met.

SOLSC#26

DAY 3

Mission Aborted

~ rdicarne ~ 16 Comments

I tried my best, but my best wasn’t good enough this morning. Upon arrival at the hospital for my scheduled MRI, I faced some challenges. I didn’t have my work order, so I had to call the doctor and have them fax it to the hospital, which was easy enough, but then, at the actual check-in desk, they told me I wasn’t capitated to this facility by my insurance. After waiting two months for the appointment and writing sub plans for my sick day, this is not what I wanted to hear. The woman at the reception desk was very friendly and checked a few things and discovered that I could get my MRI at this facility.

After only one wrong turn, I found my way to radiology and even ran into a woman who had gone to high school with my kids. She made sure I made it to my destination. The radiology techs were pleasant while they reviewed my intake questionnaire and showed me where to change into a hospital gown.

I went into the testing area and did not look at the ominous MRI tube. I proceeded to lie on the table, have a washcloth placed over my eyes, and headphones over my ears with some deafening music. The tech was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear her. Everything was happening so quickly. The panic button was in my hand, and the table started moving. By the time my elbows hit the sides of the magnet, I was a goner.

My breath started quickening, and my heart was racing. I pushed the panic button and said, “I can’t do it!!” The tech had to take me out of the machine. I felt defeated and apologized profusely. Both women were kind and caring, telling me I was not the first to have this happen and suggesting which facility would work better for me. I went back into the cubicle to redress and headed for home.

I made the two-minute walk to my car, and my breath slowed a little. On the way home, my mind vacillated between working on deep breathing and beating myself up for failing. Too rattled to stop and get the chai latte I promised myself, the car carried me home on autopilot. I know it’s not the end of the world, so I am giving myself some grace.

Next stop – open MRI!!

#SOLC25 Day 3/31