The Burrow

Don't worry,  I'm not talking about bodily functions.   I'm talking about the grunts and groans TBG and I make when we change position.  Usually, it's not difficult to move.  When it is,  that's a real groan, not an Old People Noise. Bending over to load the dishwasher is a very simple task.  All the body parts involved know what to do and when to do it and are willing to participate in the joint effort of shifting my shoulders while holding a plate, bending at the waist, and reaching my arms out and down. Not to brag, but I do Pilates and lift weights.  I don't make Old People Noises then. Squatting in Amster's home gym elicits deep breaths and serious exhales, easily mistaken as groans rather than the explosions of energy they are.  There are often grunts; I don't know why they help, but they do.   The breath is the movement in Pilates; serious exhales are the norm.  They and the grunts are part of my everyday life.  Mov...

Toward the end of her life, G'ma's appetite waned.  One small chicken cutlet was enough for both lunch and dinner.  How can four bites be enough for you? became a commonplace comment.  Her response never varied; Where will I put the rest of it? Now, as TBG and I explore the changes our eighth decade of life is bringing, we're finding ourselves following the same path.  A mini sandwich from Jersey Mikes  is more than enough for lunch.  We share one steak for dinner, accompanied by eight green beans each.  What has my life become when I'm counting the beans in the grocery store so we don't waste them at home?

I've been complaining about it for a while.  I wrote about it   last week.   The situation isn't getting any better.  Not-Kathy and Dr. K watched the Notre Dame/Ohio State game with us on Saturday .  The game began at 4:30.  Snacks were called for, and Costco provided.  Mini peppers and tiny, multicolored tomatoes and salted pretzels and Coastal Aged Cheddar (another COstco favorite) and roasted-unsalted almonds covered the coffee table. I smiled at the presentation, then realized I'd forgotten the main course (is there a main course when you're serving snacks?).  The plastic lid came off in a snap (cue laughter... it really did make a snapping noise) because the Lift Here tab was clearly evident.  But, as evidenced above, the little foil tab on the cocktail sauce was reluctant to leave the nest. Pinching is hard with my bent forefinger.  I was able to grasp the edge, but pulling it up just separated the tab from th...

I'm a reasonably intelligent person.  I've lived 71 productive years on this planet and I've encountered all manner of things.  And then there was this. I was able to discern the plastic wrap around the green lid. That was easy to remove.  The same could not be said for the rest of the container.  I tried twisting.  I tried lifting.  I tried squeezing.  I don't remember which one detached the green piece, but I wasn't in any better shape once it was gone. I twisted. I pried.   Then I touched the top .  It moved separately.  The deep edge stayed put.   Looking and feeling produced a very small, very transparent, very stuck to the rim tab. I managed to grab it (no mean trick with my bent, arthritic finger) and access the pesto.  It was yummy. But it didn't end there.  The recipe called for 1/4 cup of white wine.  This Yellow Tail pinot grigio was no easier to ope...

I've been denying it even as I spoke about it.  I know it's the right thing to do - I just don't like it very much. Fast Eddie and JannyLou, the world's best neighbors ever , are preparing to leave their beautifully restored home right next door.  They are moving to a complex with more services and more conveniences and less need to drive and more activities and closer to their kids and there are a lot of reasons why this is the right move for them........ I just don't have to like it, do I? I'm being totally selfish and I recognize that.  TBG feels the same way.  But the kids had a meeting and then the whole family had a meeting (Zoom helped) and it was decided.  The parents are loved and valued and respected and the kids want to keep them around for a long time to come - that was the message and there was no turning away from the conclusion.   They're leaving us and we are feeling bereft.  No more of Fast Eddie's bbq prowess, no more I'm bringin...

We've always thought about life in stages - infancy, childhood, adulthood, old age.   We met on the cusp of Adulthood, in the old age of Childhood, and passed into the infancy of Adulthood together.  We moved through adulthood's middle two stages without major traumas (ok, maybe except for getting shot) to ourselves or those we love.  We were remarkably healthy and active and involved. Lately, it's become obvious that we've moved into the infancy of Old Age.   Everything hurts. This morning our hands hurt...... all four of them. A dull ache, no desire to clench a fist or touch fingers to thumb - is this some rare contagious syndrome?  We lay in bed, our hands in front of our faces, turning them palm to back and around again, marveling at the addition of another body part to our list of aches and pains. I'm not talking about my hip and its assorted sensations.  They are in a separate class.  It's my eyes, which get really tired as the night go...

I was adamant the first time it was asked.  Fall? I don't fall.  Not since my son tackled me in the driveway as I was going for the basket. Then, I took a tumble, tripping over loose stones, falling backwards, landing none too lightly on the pony wall, the backs of my arms keeping me from landing on the ground.  I vowed to wear shoes whenever I ventured out the front door; socks only would be a thing of the past, and I'd be fine. Then my sandal caught the edge of the oriental rug in the kitchen.  I was very glad to have the counter right there; had I been 6 inches further away my nose and the ground would have become quite well acquainted.  By concentrating on strengthening my ankles and remembering to pick up my feel rather than dragging them along the floor I was sure I'd be fine. Then I had lunch with Lady Jane, down three small steps to get to the garden at The Arizona Inn.  Coming up after a delightful repast, she tripped over the rubber strip holding ...

Auntie M now has as many years as Harold Hill has trombones.   That was her brother's quick math answer to an unasked question, as he sat beside me on the couch, frantically switching channels, trying to find one that wasn't advertising chilling side effects and horrifying diseases or shivering puppies or starving children...... and don't get me started on that adorable little elephant who's just learning to walk.   More and more often, TBG and I are struck by the novelty of ...... well, pick just about any category... and find ourselves noting that in 140 years on this planet we have ...... At back to school night this week, FlapJilly's new 2nd grade teacher recognized SIR.....  because she taught his sister three decades ago and recognized the face.  That sister is now teaching 2nd grade, herself. This brought me back to volunteering in the library when Little Cuter was in 2nd grade and her 20-something teacher had a mild meltdown when one her her student...

I met my new physician today.  She's lovely.  The office was COVID protected in every way.  I left feeling secure in my future medical care. I also felt old. We talked about bone density, and my reluctance to take another medication. We talked about blood pressure, and my reluctance to take another medication. We talked about falling and low sodium diets. We talked about longevity and my end of life planning. It was a comprehensive review of all the ways my body could fail me.  It was sobering.  I've been coming to terms with the whole more-behind-me-than-in-front-of-me scenario for a while.  This afternoon, it was brought front and center.  I'm very glad to be here to have the conversation.  I'm not that glad to be thinking about all that has and could go wrong.  

Yes, my generic for Crestor statin will still be covered by my insurance in 2021.. No, it will no longer be a Tier 1 (read $0 co-pay) drug.  It will now cost $10 a month. No one seems to know why, not Rose at WellCare, not Amy at the doctor's office, not TBG watching sports talking heads.   TBG did remind me that we can afford $120 a year to keep me healthy; we both took a moment to recognize the privilege.   But I am a frugal sort, and the notion of spending money when it isn't necessary bothers me.  Yet I remember how long it took to get my cholesterol under control, and I'm reluctant to change ships when this one is sailing along quite nicely, thank you very much. I feel as though the universe is conspiring against me.   In an effort to take control of the situation, I am changing prescriptions to a similar generic (this one for Lipitor) and will have blood work drawn on December 2nd.   I'll let the facts decide for me, not the insura...

Turns out, I'm depressed.  And that makes me happy. I spent the morning with my soon-to-be-leaving-for-Cali doctor, the woman who was supposed to usher me into old age.  I started with her PA, who weighed me and escorted me to the exam room where she took my blood pressure. I fully expected it to be very high.  It always goes up a little in the doctor's office. It was 128/78. A little bit high, but nothing to worry about.  I laughed and wondered if I should just go right home. When the doctor walked through the door, I opened my arms for a virtual hug; she promised that she felt the love as she asked me how I was doing.  I told her that I was trying hard not to cry.  That I'd been trying hard since March.  That I hadn't hugged my grandkids since January and that no one thought it was a good idea for us to travel to see one another, or risk infecting one another.  We talked about extended families and Covid exposure and young families with kids....

I haven't felt this way in a very long time.  Coming out of the hospital, everything was scary.  Skinny white boys in hoodies crossing in front of my car gave me shivers.  TBG dropping a pan in the kitchen made me screech.  An unexpected touch made my skin crawl.  Everything was threatening. Over time, my fight or flight reaction calmed itself down.  Adrenaline's metallic taste didn't fill my mouth when seemingly ordinary events stopped me in my tracks.  Gradually, I reentered the world.  Lately, though, I've been finding that scratchy feeling at the back of my neck, a hyper-vigilance response to driving past an awful car wreck, hearing an ambulance's siren, turning a corner in the grocery store and finding a stranger staring at me.  It may have something to do with a fear of falling.  The first question I'm asked when I go the doctor these days is When was the last time you fell?  Not Have you fallen?  or How many ti...

pinterest.com They've come a long way from the old ear trumpet.   I used to hold my hand behind my ear to capture voices that were faint.  Now, I have two coordinated electronic devices which communicate with one another without wires or any visible means of transmission.  If I raise the volume on one side, the other ear increases at the same time.  It's magic. My old units had a zebra pattern, which blended nicely with my salt-and-pepper hair.  Since my hair has become more salt than pepper over the past four years , my new devices are pure silver.  The audiologist called the manufacturer to be certain that the zebra stickers were unavailable before I decided to become comfortable with this new, more mundane, look. Not that anyone can really see them; they fit behind my ears and are covered by my hair.  Still, as I plug in my ears and my eyes in the morning I long for the days when all my parts worked well. These new devices are programmable...

That was the first thing the government asked on my Wellness Check Questionnaire .  All I could do was laugh.  Yes, I am afraid of falling.  I have been afraid of falling since I was 10 years old.  I don't like to bleed.  I don't like to break things.  I don't like wearing bandaids and feeling sore.  Yes, I am afraid of falling. I've just come home from visiting a friend who fell.  She doesn't remember the incident; she found herself lying on the tile floor in her casita one evening after dinner.  She doesn't know how she got there.  She saw the Pull Here For Help chain and pulled.  That summoned the House Manager who summoned the EMTs who transported her to the Emergency Room.  She spent nearly 24 hours in the ER before being transferred to HealthSouth Rehabilitation Institute of Tucson . This is the face of modern medicine.  They patched up the bruises and bumps they could see, they stitched what needed stitching and...

Remember that Medicare Wellness Check ?  The one where the physician was not allowed to touch me?  The one where the required EKG showed an abnormality which sent me to a cardiologist for an evaluate and treat  appointment?  It seems that, upon reading the first post,  those closest to me (aka The Cuters) were quite concerned about the health of their maternal unit. "Don't do that to me again, woman!" was the Little's advice; the Big one was anxious for reassurance.  If any of you are also worried, let me reassure you - I am fine. I arrived early, because that's what I do.  The paperwork took a few minutes to complete and then I was ushered into a treatment room.  The technician, a 40-something fellow, 6'4" tall and sturdily built, helped me stow my possessions, gave me a gown (open in the front), and left with instructions to open the door when I was ready. He came right in, once I was (barely) covered by the short, pink, cloth demi-gown. ...