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.

Merry Christmas

As Chevy Chase so wisely put it at the end of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, [paraphrasing here] each person defines Christmas in his or her own unique way.

For me, Christmas is a collage of memories and feelings. It’s also been a checkpoint in time; an opportunity to take stock of where I’ve been and where I want to go.

Thirty years ago, I celebrated my first Christmas of freedom from back braces and body casts. But even before that wonderful year – 1979 – there are many fond memories of Christmases past, spent with family and friends, that combine to create my definition of Christmas.

Time and circumstances have altered the how and where of the season. I no longer live near extended family, and many of the relatives from my parents’ and grandparents’ generations have passed on. So, the focus is now on the next generation – my children – and helping them establish a foundation, rooted in tradition, upon which to build their own Christmas memories.

Traditions from my childhood -- like meatless Christmas Eve dinner and waiting until Dec. 24 to place the Holy Family in the manger – endure. And they join new customs like delivering Christmas cookies to our neighbors, and going to the movies between dinner and dessert on Christmas Day.

May you and yours create your own, special Christmas memories and enjoy peace, love and joy now and throughout the New Year.

From the hip -- redux

X-rays ordered by Dr. Kabir, my new rheumatologist, confirmed that I have severe osteoarthritis and loss of joint space in my right hip. No surprise, as I’ve noted in a previous post.

However, Dr. Kabir said I am “nowhere near” needing a hip replacement.

That was reaffirming – and good news to share with my family, especially my eight-year-old son who wants to know when I’m getting my new hip.

So, instead of contemplating surgery, I’ve started physical therapy. Dr. Kabir said she has heard good things about a place called Aquatic PT and Beyond, so I agreed to give it a try.

In the past, physical therapy meant reviewing my exercise regimen and tweaking it as needed. I pitied those poor souls who actually spent multiple appointments -- and precious time -- working out on the gym equipment during countless PT sessions. In contrast, I mastered my new moves in a few visits and was happily off doing my home program.

At Aquatic, though, I’m being treated to the full spectrum of traditional and aquatic therapy – and I like it! Gym and pool appointments alternate with a therapeutic massage every third visit. Imagine, a massage that’s covered by regular health insurance!

Bryan is my primary therapist. At my first visit, as he gathered my medical history, he asked when my spinal surgeries were.

“In 1975 and 1978. And let me guess, that’s before you were born, right?” I said.

“Uh, yeah, a bit!” he laughed.

Damn, it sucks getting old!

After examining me, Bryan declared my right quadricep one of the tightest he’s ever seen – and that’s “tight” in a bad (inflexible) way. Visually, imagine lying supine on a table and dangling your leg off the side. My right thigh remains parallel to the tabletop. Consequently, I receive an abbreviated massage at each gym appointment in an attempt to loosen some key trigger points.

These massage sessions can be very uncomfortable. At a recent visit, I told Bryan something he did hurt – and he kept doing it! But the results are worth it. Slowly, I’m feeling fractionally more flexible – something I didn’t think was possible. Bryan has even said he can help alleviate my flat-back syndrome. We’ll see…

Grandma: the later years

Shortly after Grandpa died, we realized he’d been covering for Grandma and her increasing forgetfulness.

I remember helping Grandma search for her house keys just days after Grandpa passed away. We turned the house upside down and, as the hunt lengthened without success, Grandma became increasingly agitated. “Grandpa, help me find those keys!” I implored. And, when I looked on the dining room table for the hundredth time, there were Grandma’s keys, perched atop a stack of papers.

Mark and I married 11 months after Grandpa’s death (his last wish had been to dance at our wedding), and we moved into the downstairs apartment of Grandma’s two-family house. The rent was low, and we had access to half the basement, a two-car garage, and the double-lot yard. But, more importantly, Grandma knew we were there.

Eight years later, we moved to North Carolina seeking a more affordable area to buy our own home and start our family. Grandma managed to stay in her house a few years longer, with the help of an in-home nurse during the day. Eventually, though, Mom and Aunt Annette made the difficult decision to move her to a nursing home.

Several months ago, Grandma started choking on her food. The doctors said there were two options – insert a feeding tube, or not -- and Mom and Aunt Annette decided to do the latter.

Just days before Mom told me, my eight-year-old son, R, (whose best friend had just lost his grandfather) said he wanted to meet Grandma. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen her in more than 10 years, but since she no longer recognized anyone, I reasoned she was not aware of that. Then, when Mom called, I decided to return to New Jersey sooner rather than later.

We flew up for a weekend in August and stayed with my brother, Anthony, and his family. Aunt Annette met us at the nursing home and, for the first time ever, all five of Grandma’s great-grandchildren circled her wheelchair, trying to keep her attention before she nodded off to sleep again.

Peaceful. That’s how Grandma looks. The nervous eye twitch and anxious facial expression that had slipped into place after Grandpa’s death are gone. The only indication that she has anything but happy thoughts is her tendency to jerk her clenched fist up and down, as if she is stabbing at something in her lap; that and an intermittent grinding of what’s left of her teeth that creates a friction-on-rubber sound -- the only sound she makes anymore.

Her skin is smooth and soft; her face almost devoid of wrinkles. For some unknown reason, I asked Aunt Annette’s permission to touch Grandma. She encouraged me, noting that, aside from family visits, the only human touch Grandma receives now is from strangers who care for and feed her.

It was probably my imagination, but Grandma’s clenched-fist jerk seemed to slow as I stroked her arms and hands. While my daughter, J, organized some of the other nursing home residents for bingo, I stood by Grandma’s side, caressing her blue-veined hands and remembering how she had firmly held my much smaller one when we crossed the street on a long-ago spring day.

“So, Easter is the day after tomorrow?” I asked.

“No, the day after, the day after tomorrow,” Grandma explained.

“Right, the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, today is Holy Thursday, tomorrow is Good Friday. The day after tomorrow is Holy Saturday and the day after that is Easter Sunday.”

“Oh…”

Grandma’s hands never learned to drive, but could de-bone a chicken like nobody’s business. They were strong hands that helped her become a forelady at Sherman’s sewing factory on Central Avenue in Orange, N.J., and scrubbed my face so hard I thought it would come off with the dirt. And her hands were kind as they pressed money into mine when she thought my mother wasn’t looking, and slipped our dog, Maggie, table scraps on the sly.

The good news (thanks to a barium swallow test) is Grandma doesn’t need a feeding tube; just a softer, more liquefied diet. So, her 99th birthday on Thanksgiving may not be her last.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

What would Grandpa think?

Twenty-six years ago today, Grandpa died.

It started in Summer 1983. He was losing his balance and coordination. Diagnosis: a brain tumor that was successfully removed. He went for radiation treatment as an outpatient, but when he started chemo, the stress of caring for him at home proved too much for Grandma, so he returned to Orange Memorial Hospital.

Orange Memorial. The place where Essex County’s ailing elderly went and -- more often than not -- stayed until they died.

The place was a well-oiled Medicare milking machine; a sterile environment in which to languish while Nature took its course – and Medicare paid the bills.

Such was Grandpa’s fate. A few days before he died, the doctors noticed he had jaundice. The reason: liver cancer.

Based on the limited knowledge I have about cancer and brain tumors, I know that primary brain tumors are extremely rare. In all likelihood, Grandpa’s brain tumor was secondary to his liver cancer. Could he have survived if his doctors had been more thorough? Probably not. But, I think his last days may have been very different – and the final cost to Medicare, greatly reduced.

Although I try not to think about the hopeless pain of Grandpa’s last hospital stay (there are, thankfully, so many other wonderful memories of him that I cherish), I can’t help wondering what he would say about our nation’s current health care debate.

Politically, he leaned to the right – like the rest of my family (I’m the political “black sheep”), but I remember him diffusing more than one argument at the Sunday dinner table by quoting, “I may not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it!”

In recent weeks, I’ve been cautiously optimistic that a spark of compromise is in the works in our nation’s Capitol with regard to health care. And, if he had lived to see it, I think Grandpa would be open to the possibility of such change. As I reflect on Grandpa’s memory today, I’m hopeful that we’ll all do what we can to fan that spark into a flame.