Fun and Adventure Over 70: Flying!

Back to my Bucket List, I always wanted to learn to fly an airplane. Well, actually, I always wanted to parachute, but as the years went on I realized that was no longer an option. Then I saw it on TV–flight lessons! I checked it out on the internet and learned that I could be “gifted” a single flight lesson with no further obligation. Soon after, I turned to my husband and said, “Guess what? I just bought myself a gift certificate for a flying lesson!” This was before the bicycle accident, but he paled anyway. I’m not sure what he was thinking…

The big day came and I was very excited. I had read all the information about what to do and how things were in an airplane, and I had even spoken with my pilot. We met at the nearby airpark; my son and his wife were there to photograph the event.

Boy, it’s really small, I thought. I had to literally climb up over the wing to get into the cockpit, and was stunned by the number of dials and gauges. I settled down into the pilot’s seat with the pilot next to me. Cozy isn’t even the word. I put the headphones on and, after a few directions from him, turned on the engine. Just like a car! Unlike a car, however, you steer with your feet, not the wheel. The “steering” wheel takes you up and down when you’re in the air, and the “gearshift” gives more gas. I wobbled down the runway like a drunken sailor, trying desperately to show how well I could do this.

Then came time to go up. Back went the “gearshift”, and as we approached a decent speed I pulled back on the “steering” wheel, taking us up, up, and away! What a great feeling to begin floating in air, going higher above the streets and houses. But I just couldn’t seem to keep the darn thing going straight! If anyone in the area saw a small Cessna weaving around up over Germantown that evening, that would have been me.

We flew over Frederick and up to Mt Airy, turning corners and trying to keep the difference between steering with my feet and keeping altitude with my “steering wheel” straight.

Time to come down; we angled towards the airpark, which I couldn’t make out until we were coming in to the runway. At that point the pilot took over to make sure we landed safely. Good thing, too, for I’m quite certain I didn’t make a stellar impression. But it was fun.

Bucket List: flying an airplane
Check

Until next time, Be Well.  Mary

Home Rehab: Spouse’s View

Suddenly, a whole new category of concerns lay ahead for my husband.  Wheelchair, crutches, walker, hospital bed, gadgets to help me dress, shower seat, etc. were at the forefront.  Then came the realization that he was going to be a 24/7 caretaker for an unknown period of time. 

I gave him the title of  ”Director of Caregiving”, but he said okay, only if he could be the “Supreme Director of Caregiving”.  We agreed.

On the way home, he told me how nervous he was about taking me home.  I hadn’t really thought about it from his angle.  He had commandeered our 3 sons to a Sunday afternoon of preparation.  One connected a laptop I could use on the one level of our townhouse that I wouldn’t be leaving for another 2 weeks or so.  Another brought ramps and a wheelchair, and a third was able to put up pull bars for me in the bathroom.  Thank goodness for all their talents.  Then they brought down a big lounge chair from upstairs, like the one in the hospital.

We have a great family and a great neighborhood.  Thankfully, they brought food and treats so that was the least of my husband’s worries.  Meanwhile, unable to get up without great discomfort (remember the arms and shoulders?), the first few days were ones of my requesting everything from everywhere, all the time.  Gradually, I attached a bag to the walker so I could at least carry around things that wouldn’t spill, but it was still a constant runaround for him.

Only once or twice did he show any signs of being grumpy,and one time he said he needed an assistant, but each time I’d tell him I’d double his salary and he was good to go again

It has now been 8 weeks since the accident.  He continues to be very protective and considerate but also appreciates my desire to be independent.  I plan to return to work on Tuesday, just one day a week to begin with.  We are both a little nervous about that.

If you would like to subscribe to my blog, click on the RSS button and then on the Subscribe button when it comes up.  It will automatically alert you when a new post is published.  You may also email or facebook it to others if you like.  Thank you for reading.  See you next time.

Until then, be well.  Mary

Rehab/PT/OT: Spouse’s View

We settled in the TCU and were both astounded at the amount of attention I was receiving.  But the fun had just begun for my husband.

The first thing was to bring real clothes in for me to wear during the day and to PT and OT.  Fortunately it was summer, and he went home that weary night to try finding some suitable shorts and shirts, underwear, and shoes.

He did a great job.  I had clothes for 2 days.

Then I had none.  He had to do laundry.  “How do I do laundry?” he queried.  “You’ll have to write down the directions”.  The next day I got some interesting gym shorts from Kohls–not my choice, but who cared?

As the days dragged on, this became an ongoing challenge.  There was one day when I was glad the Fashion Police were not around, but other than that he came through like a champ.

The clothes were one thing; then as I grew more active I requested certain cosmetic items–then cards and address book so I could write thank you notes for all the flowers and gifts.  We were told about getting a Handicap tag.  That involved getting the form and filling it out and getting it signed by the doctor.  About every 3rd day, he’d bring me a double chocolate doughnut . 

It was an exhausting time for him, plus trying to keep up with things at home, like cleaning the cat box {:-(

Near the end of the second week, the nurses and therapists started talking about equipment needed for going home.  YIKES!!  There’s MORE????

Yes, more.  Going home was going to be his next challenge.

Until then, be well.  Mary

Bicycle Accident: Hip Fracture: Spouse’s View

There I was, lying on the ground, unable to move.  My husband got to me first; “Oh, S*%#!” he exclaimed.  (He doesn’t remember that, but I do. ) It was quickly determined that 911 had to be called, so we waited.  And during that time Don was thinking, “She doesn’t deserve this”.  I also saw him shoot a disgusted look at the bicycle shop employee, who was still standing there, stunned.

We arrived at the emergency room, but no Don.  He had gone to the restaurant where we were to have had lunch, to cancel our reservations, and then made his way to the hospital.  He found me lined up against the wall on a stretcher, along with several others.

Mentally, he was already thinking, “We won’t be going to Chincoteague for a week, and we probably won’t be going to Ocean City either; and possibly not Atlantic City for a Retirees Reunion in October.”  But his main concern, he says, was getting me treated and finding out what was wrong.

Our turn came; intake was done and x-ray was done.  The doctor came out with the words we had been dreading:

 ” Hip Fracture”.  “Surgery”.  “Now”.

Family is pretty much pushed aside at that point, and Don was directed to a waiting room, where he waited and worried and waited and wondered and waited some more.  And he prayed.

It was some time later in the evening that he was finally allowed to see me but I was pretty groggy and don’t remember much.  He stayed much of the night and finally kissed me good night and went home to a restless night’s sleep.

The first few days were in the hospital.  It was a grind for him, getting there every day (we were 45 min from home), and sitting with a pretty unresponsive spouse.  He did find, however, a waiting room across the hall, complete with food and drink, tv and WiFi connection. 

On Saturday evening, I was transferred to the Transitional Care Unit (TCU).  What Don didn’t know then was that his role in my recovery was just beginning.

More next time.  Until then, be well.  Mary

Rehabilitation: OT and PT

The next 10 days consisted of daily trips to Rehabilitation, either for Occupational or Physical Therapy.  In a nutshell, that meant upper body and lower body exercise.

Every day was remarkably improved over the day before.  What I couldn’t do without help one day became easier the next day.  Simple movements that I had taken for granted just days before were now a huge effort.  It was time to appreciate the miracle of our bodies and how they heal.

The walker continued to be a problem for my hands and arms.  Oh, how I wished for better upper body strength!  (Let that be a hint for couch potatoes to get going with the weights!)  I was told, every time I asked, that they would keep me there until I was “ready” to go home.  That meant I had to be able to walk to the Nurses’ Station and back with the walker.  It looked like at least 2 miles away….

I had told them at work that I’d be back in 8 weeks.  It’s good to have a goal.  My motto became: 

Tomorrow: interview with my husband. 

Until then, Be well, Mary

Hip Rehabilitation

I was transferred to the Transitional Care Unit which was, fortunately, just up a floor from my hospital room.  No more bedpans or IV’s.  I was introduced to the rolling walker.  Getting up to the bedside commode the first couple of days was an enormous effort.  It was as if my right leg had become detached from the rest of me.  It was the first, second, or third morning when I and my walker were assisted to the bathroom and given a chair to sit in and bathe, and from that time on I went to the bathroom–no more bedside commode.

The walker presented a problem.  Or maybe it was the fact that I had to carry all my weight through my hands and arms that was the problem.  Blisters began forming on my hands.  I had very little discomfort from the actual surgery, but my hands, arms, and shoulders were killing me!

We wrapped the handles of the walker which helped a little.  Everyone seemed surprised that I had blisters, saying they had never seen that before!  That didn’t help.  I kept trying to keep all my weight off the right foot, and pretty soon my left hand began to feel as if it would split right open.

There was a dry erase board on the wall at the foot of my bed.  It announced the date, room, phone number, and the nurse and aide for that shift.  At the bottom were four letters: GOAL.  One day it dawned on me that it wasn’t the nurse’s goal, but mine!  Easy.  My goal was to get rid of that pain in my hands!!

Through all of this, I have to say that every person who came into my room asked if they could do anything for me before they left.  It was as if there was a barrier at the doorway that made them turn back and ask the question.  My call lights were answered promptly, every employee was thoughtful and considerate, and even the food was above the norm for hospital food.  And this was the hospital that we had nothing but disparaging remarks about at “my” hospital.  I found out one day that they were aiming for Magnet status, and I understood.  Attaining Magnet status requires the best of everyone.

Tomorrow, OT and PT.  Until then, be well.  Mary

Doctors and Defensive Medicine

 

Do you know why your doctors order all the tests and procedures they order for you?  It’s called “Defensive Medicine”.  They order tests for you because you came in with a complaint, and it protects them against a negligence suit if something should ever come of your complaint. Hence the term, “defensive medicine”. 

I have wondered why the same triad of tests are ordered any time a patient comes into our office with the complaint of palpitations.  First they get an echocardiogram to rule out any structural problems.  Then comes the 24-hour holter monitor, to seek out any abnormal heart rhythms.  Last is the stress echocardiogram, to see what the heart does during exercise.

Is this all necessary, or is it just a revenue generator? 

It depends.  If you are the patient having the palpitations, you will probably feel much better knowing that all of the above tests are normal.  From the doctor’s viewpoint, he has done all that is reasonable and proper to determine that you have no underlying pathology to your palpitations.  However, and here’s the sticky point, if you are still having the palpitations and are stressed out because of them, more testing can be done, including feeding a catheter into the heart to determine the source of the palpitations and ablating it–an invasive and expensive procedure.

Because we are a quick-fix oriented society, we’d often rather go through such procedures than turn to more holistic kinds of therapy.  For instance, learning to meditate or taking a class in yoga or tai chi are all very beneficial to the heart, mind, and soul.  We can’t always afford the time and/or money to take classes, but getting up 10 or 15 minutes earlier each day to meditate   is quick, easy, and cheap. 

This goes back to my first blogs about taking control of one’s health.  First of all, take good care of yourself.  Second, do see your doctor(s)  regularly.  And third, keep in mind that you can always refuse testing if you don’t want it or don’t feel it’s necessary.  You can always opt for it later.  In the meantime, it’s important to know that the doctors have to protect themselves from lawsuits by practicing Defensive Medicine.

And that’s the bottom line.

Back to hip recovery tomorrow.  Be well,  Mary

Hip Surgery

Did I want to pray?–the words caught my attention and temporarily brought me out of my drug-induced fog.  It was Dr. Pray, the anesthesiologist, making a joke.  Then Dr. Chung, my on-call surgeon, showed me a picture of my fracture.  It was a nice, clean break through what I would call the neck of the femur.  He mentioned three screws, and I was out again.

Next, I was in the operating room, with Dr Pray asking if it was ok for him to use a spinal anesthesia.  I mentioned my long-ago lumbar compression fractures and said it was ok with me if it was ok with him. 

The next thing I remember was waking up in exactly the same bed in exactly the same position I was in a minute ago.  Someone asked me how I felt, and I responded, “I feel wonn-derful!”  I was giddy with feeling really good.  The surgery was over. Really???

I don’t remember Recovery at all.  I do remember being rolled down a hallway to go to my hospital room and being carefully shifted onto a bed.  Somewhere in all this there was consternation over that metal sled I was still on, but they managed to get it out from under me.  Apparently most people find it so uncomfortable that they rarely get past triage in the ER before getting rid of it.  I had found it rather comfortable.  Go figure.

The next 2-3 days were a blur of IV’s, ice packs, pain med, and throwing up.   I couldn’t understand why people were concerned that I wasn’t eating when all I could do was throw up.  Obviously they had never experienced nausea before…

There was quite a parade of family and friends and flowers over those days; I did my best, but can recall that I kept reaching for a cup of ice water that was never quite where it seemed to be.  I smiled, and tried to stay awake.

So far, my care and treatment in this hospital was excellent.  I had been very dismayed to be taken to a hospital that enjoys a terrible reputation, and had even come close to being transferred back to “my” hospital. However, there were circumstances preventing that move.  The Operating Room at “my” hospital was flooded.  With water!  No surgeries planned for at least 3 days.

Still pretty groggy from the pain meds, I learned it was time to be transferred to TCU–otherwise known as Transitional Care Unit–a rehab floor, where I would begin learning how to walk again.

Fun and Adventure Gone Awry

Do you remember the Bucket List from my last post?  Continuing down my list, I asked for a bicycle for our anniversary.

We planned to go to the bicycle shop and then have lunch at the new five-star restaurant across the street, one we had long wanted to experience.  It seemed an appropriate place to celebrate our 49 years together.

The bike shop had a place “out back” to try out the bicycles, so out we went.  Immediately I had a gut feeling when I saw the area.  It was an alley, complete with asphalt, hills, concrete, gravel, broken areas, etc.  I had not been on a bike in many years, but I was too excited to listen to my gut feelings.

I fell.

As I lay on the ground, someone asked if I wanted 911 called, and I replied, “No!  I want to go to Volt’s for lunch!”

It was soon obvious that we were calling an ambulance and not going to Volt’s.  The EMT’s bandaged my elbow and carefully slid some kind of metal sled under me to get me on a stretcher and into the ambulance.  We had a bit of a wait in the ER, but the PA who did my intake gave me the news I had been dreading….

I had fractured my hip.

BUCKET LIST:    Bicycle Riding:    check

Fun and Adventure after 50-or 60-or 70

I have just Googled to see what the issues are at 50 and 60.  I didn’t even go to 70, for that’s where I am and I probably don’t really want to know.  What I found was that at 50, it’s all about the skin.  At 60, it’s all about sex.  Now, at 70, I’m working on my Bucket List. 

Did you see the movie “The Bucket List”, with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson?  Very funny.  They are both terminally ill, but decide to do everything they never got to do in life before they die, like jumping out of an airplane.

It started a couple of years ago, when I began taking over the care of a rescue horse named John Wayne.  I never knew how much care horses need!  It’s not just feeding and mucking stalls; it’s hooves and mouths, vets and shots,  and currying and combing out tails–even in the most raw and biting winter weather!

John Wayne went on to another farm to live out his days, for he could no longer carry even very young riders, but the experience had ignited my desire to ride again.  I actually had visions of riding off into the sunset like I did when I was 12.

The opportunity to ride came up, and I eagerly looked forward to it.  We arrived at the farm and were introduced to the horses, and I wondered when they had gotten so much bigger than they were when I was young.  With my arthritis, bursitis and tendonitis, I began to doubt even being able to get up into the saddle!  What was I thinking!!!

The moment arrived.  I climbed up on a large hay bale, put my left foot in the stirrup, and launched my right leg over the saddle. Oops.  Not quite.  Try again.  On the third attempt I was aloft, and the horse’s owner began walking me around the barn.  The fastest we went was a fast walk–not even close to a trot–but was nice.  Except that every time I came down into the saddle, a little wetness followed from my bladder.

It was time to dismount.  The horse dutifully reigned up beside the hay bales, and I slid off.  No, I didn’t make it.  My right leg was still hung up on the saddle.  I righted myself and tried again.  Same thing.  My right leg simply would not come with the rest of me.  I pondered the rest of my life in the saddle and gave myself one final heave-ho–and this time I made it.

Bucket List:  Horseback riding, check.