After The Fall
In October 2000, gravity and I had a little disagreement. I was under the impression that it was perfectly fine to walk down the stairs as I usually did, one step at a time, with my feet doing the work. Gravity decided I should bounce on my backside, which I have to admit is faster.
At any rate, I became familiar with coccydynia (loosely translated as "pain in the ass"). And while that term can be applied to me at pretty much regular intervals, this was a whole new ball game.
I told people I broke my tailbone, but this wasn't quite accurate, just simpler. The correct term is "subluxation," which is a fancy pants word for partial dislocation. When it comes to the coccyx, though, it doesn't really matter. Pain is pain.
There are worse kinds of pain, but this is a really inconvenient variety. Like hemorrhoids, it's painful to sit down, which people do occasionally, but unlike hemorrhoids there's no cream or minor surgery available (there is a rare major surgery, namely removing the coccyx, but this is a very delicate area to operate on and it doesn't take much of an error to have the patient end up in diapers).
You just have to wait for it to heal or get bored with causing you pain (I'm still not sure). Which takes, if you're fortunate, a couple of years. I was fortunate.
In the meantime, my doctor and I tried various things. Me, I used the Internet to find out as much as I could about the problem. There was even at least one website entirely devoted to the issue, and lots of medical journal articles and abstracts. There are physicians who specialize in this, actually.
My doctor, on her part, tried different combinations of medications and consultations with specialists, along with one steroid injection. None of this solved the problem, of course, but eventually we settled on 13 pills a day.
Thirteen.
Two naproxen, two Vicodin, and nine Neurontin tablets. Every day. For a long time.
Naproxen is an anti-inflammatory. Vicodin (hydrocodone) is a mild narcotic, a pain medication. And Neurontin is a neuropathic medicine, meaning it goes straight to the brain to argue your case.
I found out that chronic pain is an interesting subject. There are specialists in this, too, of course. It's tricky and challenging, because if surgery isn't feasible or desirable, the conservative course often requires pain medication, which carries its own risks. Unlike a terminal illness, in which the goal is to ease suffering and hopefully elevate the quality of life remaining, a chronic pain situation in someone who at least theoretically is going to be around for a while is a dance around the risk:benefit ratio.
You don't want to get addicted to opiates, trust me. I know people who were, and it's one of the really bad ones. Detox can be painful. As much as I dislike Rush Limbaugh, or at least his opinions and public persona and bad manners, I had a lot of sympathy for him when he decided (or had) to quit his habit. I wish this on nobody.
Two Vicodin a day weren't going to cause me any problems, though, and they didn't. The naproxen dose was low enough to be safe for the long term. And Neurontin also seemed to be safe, although that was an interesting monkey to shoo away from my shoulders. It has (or had for me, anyway) no mind-altering effects, no dizziness or euphoria or somnolence or impairment, but when the pain was gone, almost two years after the fall, I tossed away the naproxen and Vicodin and stayed with Neurontin for another two months, decreasing it by one pill a day a week (i.e., eight pills a day for a week, seven for the next, etc.). When I first tried to cut in by a third (I'd been warned to wean), I was a zombie. Couldn't think, couldn't talk, couldn't walk, couldn't type. Don't wanna be messing with Mr. Brain.
At any rate, I sit without pain now, something I'm still grateful for.
I'm sure I had a point here.
Oh yeah.
Aside from my gravity error thing, I've been pretty lucky. I've never been hospitalized, or had surgery. I've had accidents, and sutures, and physical therapy, and the occasional back pain, but mostly I've done okay. This is, I think, based on the fact that I don't participate in activities that make one prone to injury, such as regular exercise.
I knelt down, though, yesterday, and when I stood up I felt a pop in my right knee, never a good thing, and now I wonder if my string has run its course.
Knees are the offensive line in the body game. They bear the pass rush, the brunt of the attack. Your jaw might click and your shoulders ache, your elbows and fingers stiffen, your ankles swell and your hips swivel less, but if your knees decide to take an injury time-out it's big business.
I don't think this is serious. It hurts, I limp, I may not mow the lawn today, I may not want to crawl into the car, but it seems minor. Still, I have seen the future and it has to do with stress management.
Meaning, my knees have enough to do without compensating for too many bowls of ice cream.
I weigh too much, at least for someone who lives in this particular gravitational environment (I might be skinny on the moon but that's probably not going to happen). I've battled the bulge since I got out of high school, but only in a minor way (20 pounds overweight was my max back then). In 1990, though, I started a business and a stomach. Two years ago I took my thighs back, dropped 70 pounds and became a chick magnet (oh, give me my fantasies). Then my life sort of fell apart; my daughter left home for college and my father died and other things, and I re-discovered mashed potatoes and M&Ms.
And I don't think my knees like it. I think they fired a warning shot across my bow yesterday.
Ten years from now, they could put in some ceramic and polyethylene components and give me a new knee, but I'm thinking there might be other options.
My friend Larry Simoneaux likes to write that the best diet book would contain one sentence: Eat less and exercise more. He's right, although we need our tricks. Mine would consist of protein in the morning and walking. Staying away from sugar and eating leafy green vegetables. Walking. Walking.
I don't know how to do this. Or, more accurately, I don't know how to start. But I will, I swear, I just told you. A few weeks ago, my wife bought me a little, nifty radio that straps around my arm. The weather's been great here. My knees not withstanding, I still have endurance and I can probably get in four miles in an hour, a little jaunt around the neighborhood in springtime, with blossoms and bursting bulbs and sunshine.
I can use some support.
Today I will rest. Tomorrow I will walk, I promise. And if I can hold my tongue, always iffy, June 6th will be D-Day. I need to lose fifty pounds. That sounds optimistic but I tend to lose weight fast when I change habits. I'll let you know.
My knees will have a head's up, of course.
Nobody die until then. I'm asking here.
12:39:09 PM 
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