Dreaded first impressions

The holidays are traditionally a time for reflection. For better or worse, I tend to focus on my spinal health, gauging my progress -- or lack thereof -- from one year to the next.

I’ve heard that, as you get older, you start to care less about what others think about you. But, for some reason, I seem to be going in reverse with regard to my physical appearance and its inevitable influence on people’s first impressions of me.

During my years of back braces and body casts, I enjoyed staring down those who dared to gape at me, often giggling with delight when I turned the tables and made them feel uncomfortable.

Then, I was dealing with morbid curiosity – and outright rudeness. But now a greater challenge looms – kind concern.

As my flat-back syndrome has progressed, I have become increasingly self-conscious – and defensive – of the kindness of strangers and their concern for my well-being. I have reached the point where I can recognize that slight frown and quizzical expression before the question about my assumed pain can be asked. “No, I’m fine,” I mutter with a smile and a head shake. “Nothing to see here. Move along. Back to your lives, citizens!”

This year, as the arthritis in my hip has further altered my gait, I have convinced myself that these physical “differences” will prevent me from making a positive impression on prospective clients and colleagues ~ anything to avoid networking! Worse, I worry that, without a carefree spring in my step, people will not look beyond my “old” appearance to discover all that I have to offer as an experienced writer and communications professional.

Recently, I shared my concerns with my friend, D. Like me, D is a scoliosis patient so she understood – more than most – where I’m coming from.

“You’re not alone. Everyone has issues, something they’re uncomfortable about, so don’t let that stop you,” she urged.

She’s right, of course. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and adversity provides some of the best material.

So, in the New Year I resolve to venture out from behind my desk and seek some face time with new friends and prospects.

May you successfully keep your resolutions and enjoy good health, peace and happiness in 2011.

Featured resource

In August, I wrote about a scam email I'd received from the International Blogging Recognition Council (IBRC). The email claimed Maria Talks Back had been deemed a "Recognized blog" and offered me a badge to publicize my award -- for a fee. I passed.

Today, another email arrived announcing that MTB is listed as a featured resource for www.onlineenglishdegree.com:

"As a website dedicated to help those consider a career in english, we only provide the best information available. Whether it's a resource that explores different writing styles, or provides inspiration for your next novel, we provide them for those seeking to obtain this information. This is why we've featured your blog, as it is one of the best to teach our readers."

The badge now located in the upper-right corner was free, so I think this one is for real.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Holidays are a time for reflection. As I look around the dinner table today, I’m remembering Thanksgivings past at my grandparents’ house, surrounded by my boisterous, extended family.

Things are quieter this year, but no less thankful. Mark and I have faced many challenges, including his extended unemployment and several health issues.

We’ve come through, still intact and stronger for the storms we’ve weathered. For that, and all my blessings, I am profoundly thankful.

Thank you for reading my blog. May you and yours savor your holiday feast – and each other’s company – and find joy and appreciation in all of your blessings today and every day.

RIP, Grandma

As he was leaving my engagement party, my grandfather turned to me and said, "My last wish now is to dance at your wedding!" He didn't make it.

Now, almost 27 years later, Grandma has joined him in heaven. When Grandpa met her at the pearly gates, I think one of the first things he said was, "Mary, I owe you a dance!"

Grandma would have been 100-years-old on Nov. 26, 2010. The last 15+ years of her life were spent in a nursing home as dementia gradually claimed her mind and body. But that's not how I will remember my fiercely independent grandmother.

I always considered Grandma to be somewhat of a feminist long before the term was defined. A product of the Depression, she quit school after receiving an elementary-level education so she could work to help support her family.

Shortly after she and Grandpa became engaged, Grandma's fiery spirit sparked an argument that almost changed the course of our family's history. As the story goes, she wanted to go dancing, but Grandpa did not.

"Well, I'm going without you!" Grandma said.

"Oh no, you won't!" Grandpa replied.

"Oh yes, I will!"

"Then, give me that ring back!"

Grandma complied and went on with her evening. The incident postponed their nuptials, but they (obviously) later reconciled.

After they married, Grandma continued to work full-time as a seamstress, eventually becoming a forelady at Sherman's sewing factory in Orange, NJ. She made most of her own clothes, always in the latest styles. She prided herself on being a salaried employee throughout her career, while Grandpa had "only" worked on commission as a salesman. She was thrifty and disciplined about saving money, yet she treated herself to a weekly hair appointment at "the beauty parlor." When I was old enough, Grandma shared her passion for sewing and crocheting (she made beautiful afghans) with me, although I never mastered them the way she did. She also encouraged me to patronize her "girl" to have my hair done, often pressing money into my hand to fund my visit.

I have cozy memories of Saturday nights at Grandma's where Anthony and I were treated to pan-fried lamb chops, Kool-Aid (something my mother refused to buy!), and staying up past bedtime to watch Mary Tyler Moore.

During my recovery from spondylolisthesis surgery, my parents gave me one of Dad's police whistles to summon them from the second floor, since I was confined to bed in the dining room. One afternoon, Dad was upstairs asleep after working the midnight shift. I don't remember what I needed; only that I kept blowing the whistle with all of my breath and he didn't respond. Panicked, I called Grandma thinking something had happened to Dad. "I'm sure he's alright, but I'll be right there," she assured me. Minutes later, I heard her coming through the back door after speed-walking (she didn't drive) up our street -- one of the longest, steepest hills in West Orange. After checking on me, she charged up to my parents' bedroom and brought my sleepy, bewildered father to my bedside to confirm all was well.

Together with Grandpa, Grandma was the focal point of my extended family. She brought us together every Sunday for dinner -- a meal that always included amazingly moist meatballs. And, afterwards, as I watched from the corner stool in the kitchen, Grandma and her sister, Rose, would good-naturedly argue about who would do the dishes, their cackling laughter reverbertaing off the walls and tin ceiling.

I feel so blessed to have had Grandma in my life and I'm comforted knowing that she is finally at peace. When I think of her now, I can't help but smile at the image of her and Grandpa, dancing again among the stars.

Sound for Scoliosis

Giving help and hope to children and families with scoliosis. That’s the mission of Sound for Scoliosis, a nonprofit organization that uses the power and allure of music to raise awareness and funds for the National Scoliosis Foundation.

Sound for Scoliosis’s second annual concert event will take place Fri., Nov. 5, through Sun., Nov. 7, at various venues located primarily in the downtown Scranton, PA area.

During The Grand Finale on Sun., Nov. 7, NSF President Joe O’Brien will read Emily’s story. If you're a regular Maria Talks Back reader, you know all about Emily and her scoliosis saga. Her mom, Suzette, has given me permission to reprint her remarks here as an update -- in case you can’t make it to Scranton next month:

“My name is Suzette Robinson Schrump. I am 46 years young. I am mother, advocate and staunch supporter of my beautiful little girl named Emily, now age 11. In 2005 at age 5, Emily was diagnosed with scoliosis by her pediatrician. In fact, the curve 'appeared' so bad we (Emily's daddy and myself) were given no medical options. UNC Chapel Hill was THE place chosen for our daughter's care.

"For the next 4 years we drove back and forth to the hospital every four months in hopes that we would never hear the words we came to fear the most. 'It's time to start bracing.' In fact, when her 'S' curve was actually MRI'ed (under anesthesia) Emily was also diagnosed with a spinal syrinx. So between orthopedics, neurosurgery and urology, we remained on edge. We determined that four years began to feel like a lifetime.

"June 5th, 2009, our hearts sank, nausea overcame us, as the surgeon gave us the 'news.' Before the brace, it had become commonplace to just wait and worry; now it was here. The brace was coming whether we liked it or not. Our lives had changed forever. Adding insult to injury, our insurance company, United Healthcare, claimed we had went to an out-of-network brace provider (even though we had a written prescription to go to a specific orthotist) and decided to deny all of the claims. Appeals came and went, and denials were the outcome. UHC sent us to a 'provider' of their choice, and the provider simply told me (in writing) that he could not make the brace Emily needed, and that he didn't know why we were given his name in the first place.

"Long story short, we met and befriended Katherine Southard aka Miss North Carolina 2009 at the 4th of July event in 2009 (divine intervention). She put us in contact with a freelance writer, Maria, who is also a scoliosis patient, and had awesome contacts in Raleigh, NC. Maria hooked us up with a radio broadcast station, which we spoke on about our insurance debacle, and BAM! the claim was paid.

"Maria then landed two separate newspaper features about Emily and Miss North Carolina, all in hopes of raising awareness for scoliosis. Katherine came to Emily's school and spoke to the entire student body about scoliosis and her spinal fusion. Emily interacted with Katherine by actually showing the kids how she puts her brace on. The kids were amazed. Emily became a Rock Star.

"Between the three of us adults, we have come together to do everything possible to help people understand scoliosis, and to get the public school system to restart school screenings at a young age. If we can help one child, just one, then it is worth it.

"Emily is on her third brace. She is holding her own. Her curves have not progressed. We are homeschooling her this year because the middle school transition was a task Emily was not willing to take on. We allowed her to make the choice. We are not giving up. We are going to continue to battle the 'system.'

"The Governor of North Carolina recently rejected a proposal put before her as the month of June becoming Scoliosis Awareness month for our state. A shame given the fact that so many other states actually have a month chosen for scoliosis. So the battle continues.....”

You can follow Sound for Scoliosis on Facebook to learn more about the work it is doing on behalf of scoliosis patients.

PT magic

So far, so good. Doug, my new physical therapist, wrote that I am “progressing nicely” in my patient file yesterday -- my sixth appointment with him, post-spasm.

I’d been on medication for two weeks by the time Doug and I had our initial consultation and evaluation. Although I was pain-free -- for the first time since I can’t remember -- Doug said the offending muscle was still tight, something he set to correct with massage.

“I don’t believe in ultrasound. I’d much rather get my hands on you and work the muscles,” he said. And work them he did, very effectively. After my second visit, I successfully stopped taking Mobic, the anti-inflammatory drug.

During the past month, Doug has reviewed my home exercises, and gradually added others. If a new exercise targeted the same area as an old one, I adopted the newer version.

Massages focused in and around my right hip at each appointment until the muscles loosened to Doug’s satisfaction. By my fourth visit, I felt great. But, I didn’t know how much to credit Doug’s massages and the new exercises, since I was still on Amrix. And although I hated taking the muscle relaxant, I was afraid not to.

“Let’s stop the Amrix the night before your next appointment,” Doug suggested. “Then, if you’re in pain that morning, we can take care of it.”

Now, I’m coming up on one week, drug-free. No spasms. In fact, I feel pretty good! I still have some stiffness in the morning, but it’s nothing compared to the low-back pain I had accepted as my “new normal” within the past year.

My posture and gait have improved, too, if only my muscles would remember that. It’s strange how the body adjusts to chronic pain and discomfort. For awhile, I’ve been aware that my stride resembled a modified waddle -- like I was negotiating tires in an obstacle course – to accommodate my arthritic hip. With Doug’s help, I now feel more flexible and able to walk normally, something I need to consciously remind my muscles, lest I start quacking!

The next challenge is…[drum roll]…yard work. I have avoided doing anything remotely strenuous to prevent a recurring spasm, but Doug wants me to take the plunge. “I’d rather you go about your normal business so we can address any problems, rather than your calling me in pain after I’ve discharged you,” he said.

So, sometime between now and late next week, I’ll be donning my gloves to break up the weed "kegger" that has been taking over my garden. Wish me luck!

Out of control

“I feel good…na-na-na-na-na-na-na…didn’t know if I would…”

One week ago today, a roundtrip walk from my bed to the bathroom triggered a muscle spasm in my right hip that stole my breath, stopped me in my tracks and scared the crap out of Mark – and me.

Except for the morning pain I had before my spondylolisthesis surgery, this was the worst! I’m not sure how I got back to bed, but (after waving my poor husband off) I did make it there on my own. It was 2AM. I gratefully swallowed the naproxen Mark brought to me and went back to sleep.

I tend to gauge the severity of my back pain each day by my range of motion and the ability to perform routine tasks. So, when I got up at 5:15AM, I was ready to determine this spasm’s place on the pain continuum.

The naproxen had taken the edge off, and I was able to get dressed and go upstairs. Although I managed to get through most of my daily isometric exercises, for the first time ever, I opted to stay off the treadmill.

That’s when reality sunk in: the spasm was in control, not me. Being unable to control your body is an awful feeling; one I work to avoid every day. But on this day, as I dejectedly shuffled to my office and lowered myself into the computer chair, I felt like I had failed.

Years ago, a physical therapist explained that back pain is often at its worst first thing in the morning. This may seem counterintuitive, since you would (theoretically) be rested after a night’s sleep. However, while the body is horizontal, fluid in the spine’s vertebrae collects in tiny pools, and it is that accumulated fluid that can cause morning back pain in many people. Once you get up and start moving, the fluid drains and the pain usually dissipates.

That has always been the case for me, even with this – the mother of all muscle spasms. And, after about 30 minutes of sitting upright, I was able to go downstairs (albeit gingerly) and get on with my day.

Given the debilitating nature of the spasm that morning, I was surprised to be mobile and self-sufficient throughout the day, but I did not let that lull me into a false sense of recovery. No, the spasm was still there...lurking...waiting to strike again.

That night, I went to orthopedic urgent care.

In my experience (which is, unfortunately, extensive), orthopedic surgeons are as elusive as rock stars, relegating the mundane chore of treating non-surgical patients to their PAs. I can count on one hand the number of knowledgeable, caring PAs I have encountered in my life. The guy I saw last week was not one of them.

“You have an ugly back!” he announced as he breezed into the exam room after viewing my X-ray films. Clearly, he had checked his bedside manner at the door.

“Really? I think my back is beautiful. What did the X-rays show?"

“Oh, just a lot of arthritis, bone spurs and stuff. Lots of wear and tear, but nothing to worry about.”

“Is there anything on the X-rays I should know about?”

“No, nothing to worry about. Just A LOT of wear and tear.”

Okaaay…

“What do you take for your arthritis?” he asked.

“An occasional ibuprofen, but usually nothing,” I said.

“Why?”

“Uh, because I don’t like taking pills.”

After diagnosing me with a muscle spasm (really?), the PA prescribed anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxant medication, and wrote a script for physical therapy.

Then, he gave me samples of two muscle relaxants to try. The first (Skelaxin) lasts six to eight hours; the second (Amrix ) works for 24 hours. I quickly determined that I needed a muscle relaxant working full-force when I get out of bed in the morning, so Amrix was the winner.

Now, one week later, I am essentially pain-free –- something I haven’t been in a long time -- but I hate the dry mouth and drowsiness caused by the drugs, not to mention the scary warnings against long-term use of both Amrix and Mobic.

So, my first question for the physical therapist next week will be,

“How can I continue to feel like this, without meds?”

I’ll let you know what he says.

Scam alert: International Blogging Recognition Council

Earlier this week, I opened my email to find this missive:

"During the month of July, the International Blogging Recognition Council (IBRC) had the pleasure of reviewing your blog Maria Talks Back. Your blog was referred to IBRC through our Refer-A-Blog program. 'The unemployment truth ~ can you handle it?' was the topic that the Council reviewed. Based on the review, the Council has recommended that your blog receive IBRC’s designation of 'Recognized Blog.' IBRC reserves this honor to those blogs that effectively connects with the audience and promotes the sharing of ideas and experiences.

"We invite you to visit our website to learn more about IBRC and our “Recognized Blog” award. Congratulation on your accomplishment.

Sarah L. Tolten
Review Committee Chair
International Blogging Recognition Council"

I must admit, I was flattered -- until I went to the website in search of a "badge" that would designate my blog as "recognized." It was available to me -- for a one-time fee of $45.

After conferring with fellow writers and bloggers, I've confirmed that this is a scam. As one colleague put it, "Awards you have to pay for aren't worth having. There's a big difference between paying for the award and paying an entry fee in a legitimate awards competition."

So, I am using the power of my pen to spread the word and, hopefully, hasten a swift demise to the IBRC.

The unemployment truth ~ can you handle it?

This recent YouTube video satirizes the games the federal government may be playing to cast a positive spin on current unemployment figures.

Since my husband, Mark, was laid off in January, we’ve become reluctant contestants in a whirlwind of other games, compliments of Corporate America:

- the “job-description-for-that-position-is-a-moving-target-because-we-don’t-know-what-we-want” shuffle,

- the “you’re-a-great-fit-but-we’re-putting-that-position-on-hold-for-now” waiting game,

and the ever-unpopular

- “we-want-to-find-one-person-with-the-skill-set-of-three-who-is-willing-to-work-for-peanuts” challenge

These games are the unreported reality behind the unemployment numbers. The economic climate has tilted the scales disproportionately in the employer’s favor, and corporations are taking full advantage -- at the expense of people’s lives and livelihoods.

Bottom line: businesses (small and large) are reluctant to “pull the trigger” and make a hiring decision. And, while the unemployed needed jobs yesterday, employers are taking their sweet time. As our friend, MF, put it, “Instead of ‘settling’ for someone who meets eight out of 10 criteria, they keep looking for someone who meets all 10,” he said. “So they continue to search for the left-handed brain surgeon – because the previous guy was left-handed!”

If nothing else, this adventure has reaped a rich crop of surreal scenarios for Mark and other job-hunting friends:

- multiple interviews (the record, so far, is 10)

- being told “you’re the one” only to have the position pulled – or filled by someone else

- unwanted membership in the 50-50 Club (companies reluctant to hire anyone older than 50, and unwilling to pay more than $50,000)

- companies offering contract positions instead of regular jobs with benefits

- a growing list of industries that are going “off-shore” for less-qualified (but cheaper) talent

- zero follow-up or feedback from prospective employers

and, most disturbing,

- the sense that being unemployed is an automatic disqualifier.

There is a growing disconnect between the employed and the unemployed. Nationally, lifelines like the COBRA subsidy and emergency extensions for unemployment benefits have faded away. Now, as the November elections approach, speculation and political posturing have consigned the people behind the unemployment statistics to the role of political football.

Something’s gotta give.

Until then, Mark and I will push forward, and try to maintain that delicate balance between hopefulness and raising our hopes too high.

Dogs

My life has always included a dog.

Sarge was the collie mix my parents had when they were first married. Named for my dad’s rank in the Air Force, I didn’t know Sarge well since he was relegated to the basement after Anthony and I came along to ease Mom’s cleaning regimen. I hardly noticed when he passed away of old age.

Then, the summer I was eight, we got Ralphy. A bassett hound/beagle mix puppy, Ralphy was sweet, but capo dost (“hard head” or obstinate). He was fearless and did not hesitate to go toe-to-paw with my father over a stolen shoe or – one time – a stick of butter taken from the kitchen counter.

Ralphy was my dog. I woke up early to walk him, and trained him to sit, stay, “speak” and shake. During each of my extended hospital stays, my parents said Ralphy searched the house, looking for me. And as I recuperated at home, I was never alone with Ralphy at my bedside.

Bassetts and beagles are prone to tumors, and Ralphy had his fair share. All were benign until the one that took hold in his liver when he was 13. By the time we’d discovered it, the tumor was as big as a grapefruit, and so painful Ralphy would fall asleep sitting up.

We ended his suffering on Dec. 4, 1983 – one month and one day after my grandfather died. Later, Mark said I had cried equally for them both. I begged my mother to get another dog, but she’d had enough. “When you and Mark get married, you can get your own dog,” she said. One wrinkle: Mark had been allergic to dogs as a child, and he didn’t know if -- like his asthma -- he had outgrown that malady. We decided to chance it, but I told him, “If you are still allergic, you’re going on medication, because we are NOT returning the dog!”

We rescued Maggie from an animal shelter in South Orange, NJ. She was a black, spaniel mix, about 15-months-old, and shell-shocked from abuse. It took years before she trusted us to step over her while she slept, causing more than a few near-falls for Mark and me.

Not only was Mark not allergic to Maggie, he formed a strong bond with her. She was his first real pet and the perfect addition to our new home, just one month after our wedding. After J was born, eight years later, we learned that Maggie wasn’t crazy about kids. She wasn’t aggressive towards J; she just ignored her.

Later in life, Maggie developed lymphoma. We kept her comfortable on medication and let nature take its course. Then, in September 1999, as Hurricane Floyd was bearing down on Raleigh, Maggie lost control of her hindquarters and she couldn’t walk. “A system failure,” was what the emergency veterinarian told us, and the difficult decision was made to put her down. She was 15-years-old.

Mark took Maggie’s loss especially hard and vowed that we’d have an extended mourning period before considering another dog. Then, one sunny day in October, he suggested we go “look” at the animal shelter.

“If we go to the animal shelter today, we’re getting a dog today,” I told him.

Can’t say I didn’t warn him – that afternoon we adopted Sandy.

A husky/shepherd mix, Sandy was three-months-old when we brought her home. J named her for the sandy color of her face, and she is the sweetest dog I’ve ever had. She’ll be 11 in July, but most people think she’s still a youngster. Sandy and J have grown up together, and, when R was an active toddler, Sandy had infinite patience. However, when she’s hurt or scared, I’m the one she comes to.

Despite the ache of arthritis in my lower back each morning, I feed Sandy and let her out, since I’m usually the first one up. As I shuffle to the kitchen while Sandy scampers ahead of me, I wonder if I will have the strength and will to start over with another dog, after her time with us ends. Probably. Because, in my mind, a home is not complete without a dog.

Living life

Crisis management is a vital parenting skill that I learned from a master – my mother.

When faced with my spondylolisthesis diagnosis and the reality that their 13-year-old daughter needed major spinal surgery to avoid paralysis, both my parents were matter-of-fact. Did I want the surgery? Was I comfortable with the surgeon? And, if either of my parents were freaking out on the inside, I never knew it.

During my surgery, Mom prayed and visualized Jesus carrying me. That brought her peace. Afterward, my surgeon, Hugo Keim, reported that all had gone well and I was fine. Dr. Keim and Mom never hit if off; he reserved his warm-and-fuzzy bedside manner for his patients, and didn’t have much charm leftover for their parents. Yet, after each of my surgeries, he updated her personally, instead of delegating the duty to a junior doctor on his surgical team. For that, Mom was grateful.

Post-op, I was in a body cast for six months. The kicker: for the first three months, I was bed-ridden so the spinal fusion could heal properly.

Caring for me at home was a challenge that Mom seemed to enjoy. She’s a natural at troubleshooting and, by the time the gurney rolled me through the front door, everything was in place.

One of my father’s brothers had located an old-fashioned hospital bed – crank-style – that he had cleaned and painted white. And, instead of sequestering me upstairs in my bedroom, Mom decided I would be in the dining room on the first floor “where all the action is,” she said. So, the dining room table and chairs were moved into the living room, creating a crowded by usable arrangement.

Since Mom had gone back to work by then, a phone was installed at my bedside. I was also given one of Dad’s police whistles to summon assistance, if needed, after everyone had gone upstairs to bed. With Dad working rotating shifts, Mom coming home midday for lunch and my brother checking in a few hours before Mom at day’s end, I was covered!

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Mom was teaching me how to deal with life’s curveballs. The takeaway: make a plan and execute, and keep living your life.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Size matters

“Don’t gain any weight.”

That was the parting advice from my rheumatologist during a recent visit.

Years ago, I was told that each one-pound gain in weight adds 10 pounds of pressure to your body’s joints. And this information from Johns Hopkins reports similar findings.

However, a weight gain of two or three pounds (okay, three!) is inevitable whenever I visit my parents. My mother’s amazing cooking and baking, combined with my father’s continual stockpiling of sweets (he brings pocketfuls of free cookies home from the bank every day), usually sabotages my best intentions within 24 hours.

Prior to my Easter visit, I had seen a number on the scale that had eluded me since before my son was born nine years ago. And, when my weight is down, I do notice a difference. There is less morning ache in my lower back and the stiffness in my hip decreases. I stand straighter and walk without a noticeable limp. Good motivators all, but no match from Mom’s homemade lasagna and meatballs.

So far, I’m down one pound. Considering there are still jelly beans and peanut butter eggs in the house, I count that as a major triumph.

Other news from the rheumatologist: 1) the arthritis in my hip is only in certain areas, but not the entire joint, and 2) the severity of my arthritis -– as evidenced by my X-rays -– means I qualify for a permanent handicapped placard. So, I’ve got that going for me, too.

BOGOs, freebies and squirrels

Last weekend, I celebrated my birthday at my parents’ home.

Mom and Dad are both retired, yet they have each approached retirement in their own unique way.

Mom is a social butterfly. If I don’t catch her by phone in the morning after her daily walk, she’s often out and about until late afternoon. She is in high demand to play bridge and Mah-Jong with several groups and -- as a three-year breast cancer survivor -- also volunteers to counsel newly diagnosed patients. On less structured days, she goes out to lunch or to the movies with her friends.

Meanwhile, Dad’s days are pretty predictable: 18 holes of golf (within two hours; he’s an express golfer) and a brisk walk before dozing in front of the television for the remainder of the day.

The afternoon I arrived for my birthday weekend, I woke Dad from his intermittent nap so he could brief me on his favorite topics (aside from golf): BOGOs, freebies and squirrels.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Dad is a product of the Great Depression, so he’s always looking for a deal. He and Mom comb through the grocery store ads and visit several stores each week to hit all the sales. (That’s where I get it from!) Dad also collects buy-one-get-one (BOGO) free coupons for fast food restaurants by fishing through the trash at the post office. Apparently, a lot of people toss those valuable circulars after they’ve sorted through their mail. He keeps more coupons than he and Mom could hope to use, but he also spreads the wealth among the golf course starters, and other friends.

Scouting out the free meal offers from banks and financial advisors has also become an exact science. The meal and venue need to be of a certain quality before my parents will consider attending. They recently found freebie nirvana on St. Patrick’s Day. The event featured a sumptuous buffet with a wide variety of offerings, and a Venetian table of desserts. Jackpot!

Then, there are the squirrels. Dad pursues squirrels with a level of intensity that reminds me of Bill Murray’s quest to kill the gopher in Caddyshack. Although explosives are not yet part of Dad’s arsenal, he does spent an inordinate amount of time scheming to prevent squirrels from gaining access to the bird feeders in the front and back yards. Recently, he greased the surface of the backyard feeder with Vaseline. “It works!” he told me gleefully. “They slide right off.”

Yes, it’s the simple things that keep life exciting in my parents’ retirement. They deserve that, and more. So, here’s to many future birthdays and everydays, talking about BOGOs, freebies and squirrels.

Happy Anniversary, 'Maria Talks Back'

It has been one year since I started this blog. Time does indeed fly!

My original goal for entering the blogosphere was to establish an online platform for my memoir, Growing Pains.

Life continues to get in the way of my completing the current revision – I’m just pages away! – but, a lot of unexpected, pleasant things have happened in the meantime.

Most notable: I met Suzette and Emily Schrump, and Katherine Southard (aka, Miss North Carolina). Our crusade to convince United Healthcare to cover Emily’s doctor-prescribed brace treatment for her scoliosis was a rewarding triumph that I cherish. And, after meeting that challenge, we continue to stay in touch via Facebook. That’s how I knew that, today, Emily received her third brace. You grow, girl!

Looking ahead, I resolve to finish this edit on my manuscript and move forward with the next. It seems daunting now, but a lot can happen in a year.

Becoming a statistic

My family has reluctantly joined the ranks of the unemployed. It’s a club we hope to be ousted from soon.

This is the fifth time in 25 years that one of us has been laid off. In times past, the financial blow created by one spouse’s job loss was buffered by the continued employment (and health benefits) of the other. This time, that is not the case.

Since I’m self-employed, my income is not as regular or reliable as a “normal” job, so the only thing we’re able to bank on at this point is Mark’s unemployment benefits.

Job loss is akin to losing a loved one. Now, one month into this adventure, we are finally emerging from the five stages of grief, moving towards acceptance – and action.

The kids are feeling the stress, too. J asked if we would lose our house. I told her that’s not part of the plan – and it’s not.

If one good thing has come out of the recession, it’s that there are more options available to help people keep their homes. One is the Home Protection Program. This loan fund program is only available in a handful of states and, luckily, North Carolina is one of them. We are just in the early stages of the pre-approval process, but are hopeful it will work out.

In the meantime, we have returned to a Depression-era mentality of pinching every penny, and taking a hard look at needs versus wants. This is a familiar way of thinking for me. My father still wears T-shirts until they are worn down to nothing – even though he has a dresser stuffed with new ones, still in their packaging.

Recruiters are saying that the job market is opening up and things should start popping by Spring. Until then, if you know of any appropriate opportunities in web analytics/search marketing, and/or business/data analysis, please email me. Prayers are also appreciated!

Good luck, Katherine!

During the two and one-half years I wore a Milwaukee brace (between 1976 and 1979), the medical focus was on the physical. No one ever inquired about my emotional state, and how it “felt” to be in such a visibly restrictive apparatus, 23 hours per day.

Thankfully, things have changed. One of the agents of that change is Katherine Southard (a.k.a. Miss North Carolina).

Recently, Katherine discussed scoliosis, self-esteem and tolerance with students at South Harnett Elementary School in Bunnlevel, N.C. Katherine appeared at the behest of 10-year-old Emily Schrump. As you may have read in previous posts, both Katherine and Emily (like me) are scoliosis patients.

During her speech, Katherine (whose platform this year was “Scoliosis: Ahead of the Curve”) engaged the students by explaining scoliosis and showing them Emily’s Boston brace. Her core message: it doesn’t matter how people look on the outside; it’s what’s inside that counts.

I was able to generate some great (if I do say!) media coverage of Katherine’s appearance at Emily’s school. The stories ran this week in the News & Observer and the Fayetteville Observer-Times.

If her commitment to Emily is any indication, Katherine has made a tremendous impact during her reign as Miss North Carolina. In August, she secured a $500 shopping spree at Peebles clothing store, to help Emily buy back-to-school clothes that would fit over her new brace. Katherine also connected me with the Schrump family, and what a rewarding experience that has been! Together with Emily’s mom, Suzette, we’ve taken on a health insurance giant and scored some cool media opps along the way.

This weekend, Katherine will be competing in the Miss America pageant . Please join me in wishing her the best of luck!

Secrets of the IT band

I’m standing a little straighter, and walking a little easier these days, thanks to the knowledgeable folks at Aquatic PT.

Kim, one of my physical therapists there, recently discovered that my Iliotibial (IT) band is incredibly tight and tender. So tender, in fact, that I nearly jumped off the exam table when she pressed on a particularly sensitive spot.

During all the years I have sought exercise and physical therapy for my back and hip issues, nobody has ever mentioned the IT band. Apparently, it’s pretty important and, in my case, a common denominator affecting my hip, knee and lower back.

The IT band is a long tendon that exists along the outer thigh, from the hip to just below the knee. IT band syndrome (injury and inflammation to the IT band) is more commonly seen in runners, but it can also occur in people with uneven leg length or weak hip abductor muscles – like me.

Kim initially treated my IT band with ultrasound to promote healing and loosen the tendon’s tightness. Just the gentle passing of the ultrasound wand made me wince in spots, but I saw an immediate improvement in my overall flexibility and achiness.

To supplement the ultrasound, Kim gave me a new stretch to do at home that specifically targets the IT band. Bryan, another of my therapists, explained that both approaches will attack the tightness of my IT band on two fronts, simultaneously loosening the tendon (via ultrasound), and then keeping it loose with the stretching exercise.

Progress has been incremental, but dramatic. I’m walking less like Quasimoto when I get out of bed in the morning. My gait is more fluid and I can stand straighter – and longer – almost without effort.

Kim and Bryan are encouraged, too -- which is why ultrasound has become a recurring part of my gym appointments.