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My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

It's a blue cane!

As some of you may be aware, I slipped and fell almost a year ago - March 14, 2012 to be exact.  It  was a thrill of a lifetime, akin to colonoscopy preparation!  I managed to break 6 water glasses and a coffee pot on my way down and miraculously landed on a floor rug, being spared the multitudes of killer glass shards that could have become lodged in my backside.  Whew...my butt is a pretty big-ass target too, so the rug is the hero of the story.

Lucky me.  Blarney to that; well maybe if you look at it from my ass's perspective in that I am glass free, but that as an Irishwoman, I managed to fall in the first place.  And, add to which indignity, I fell in March, my favorite month for Irish-ness.  I managed to herniate a disc and since then,  life has thrown me a few curve balls.

Today's fashion statement for me is a blue cane.  My fierce Irish Shillelagh is a bloody fine example of all things Irish, but alas, it's bronzed tip makes for a dangerous duel with the ice and snow of Colorado.  Thus, I found myself in the little old lady aisle of our local Wal-Mart, shopping for a cane.  Who knew there were so many styles to choose from.  Colors galore.  Pink ones with spots, leopard patterned poking sticks, flexible ones - handles of all grips and materials.  I almost felt as though I was shopping for a car.  Usually one expects me to be flying around on a broom stick. 

Being sensible, and realizing I was purchasing a cane, not a Gucci handbag, I settled on a steel blue cane, that can be folded if needing to be stored, with a nifty skid proof bottom, and rubberized handle.  It does compliment my blue jeans, and a Columbia fleece jacket.  Fashion has never been my forte.  Who could have imagined that cane shopping was a task that I was accomplished at?  What the hell is wrong with this whole scenario?

So, here we are - a typical Colorado winter.  Flipping -22 degree temps, mysteriously warmer days of 10+, or even wet, heavy snow very much like today's weather.  My trusted cane has served me well thus far.  I remain vertical, rather than horizontal.

Along with the cane, I have obtained a temporary (I pray this to be true) handicap placard for my car.  I had an epiphany of sorts a few weeks ago, when I could barely make it from a parking spot in Timbuktu to the doors of our grocery store, that I might require a bit of a luxury with a placard.  It was a sad day for me.  In my mind, I was relinquishing my status as an able-bodied person to some sort of broken robot, who needed a lube job.

My back is still a mess.  My surgeon is by far one of the finest; working with the U.S. Ski Team, and also "inventing" a titanium device which was implanted in my spine a few years back and had, up until I fell,  relief.  Sure, we all suffer from "back pain" or a "stiff back", but that nifty little X device was a gift. 

Pain is a new word in my vocabulary.  Actually, if  I could be so bold as to further that statement with:  unrelenting, horrific, never ending back pain that has taken over my life, changed me, and made me something I don't really recognize anymore.  Most days I manage through it with a stiff upper lip, chipper attitude and Irish genes.  I write my husband's photography blog, write in my own journal, think of  ideas on how to bake the perfect souffle, and yearn for conversation.

The title of my blog, when it was born a few years ago, was meant to be a parody to the grace-filled path of menopause.   Then, politics started to creep in, along with an almost Seinfeld-esque take on life in general, things that scream odd, obscure, bizarre or contemptuous about everyday life.

Tonight I felt the need to write about my spine, what it is putting me through, and the warped JOY of buying a cane.  I had 2 root canals recently, and to most dental patients who might have the sympathy pains of..."oh ouch, you poor thing",  I sat back in that dental chair, exclaimed "bring it on" and let the dentist drill away.  I'd rather have 100 root canals, if only to be relieved on this monkey on my back.

So, in closing tonight, as I am unable to sleep because my legs keep falling asleep, and the Percocet has yet to kick in, I will spend 10 minutes complaining, and then getting a satisfying giggle in that I just got excited about buying a cane.  Life is just full of little tidbits of fun. 

PEACE and PERCOCET...have a great day.

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