Well, this is it. The day I’ve been waiting for. Today I’m finally getting a physical therapy session that will address my hip bursitis.
I have only a smidge of hope left for this. Two sets of corticosteroid injections—seemingly the miracle cure for bursitis—have failed. (I’m sure in my records it says that I failed the injections, rather than the other way around. Grrr.) My previous experience with PT, for RA, consisted of a very nice therapist giving me instruction sheets for some general strengthening/flexibility exercises. I expect there will be more of those today, pinpointed for my hips and the specifics of trochanteric bursitis. Will she do more? Ultrasound? Massage? Ice packs? Hands-on, therapist-directed, real-time exercise in the clinic? I don’t know, but I really, really hope so.
My bursitis has gotten much worse during the last two weeks. It’s always been a low-level, constant, aggravating and draining sort of ache in my hips, but now it’s as if the volume has been turned up suddenly, a blaring, achy-sharp pain that stretches from my hips into my seat and down to my knees. The racket has awakened the rheuma dragon, too. To my dismay, he’s stretching his claws and idly gnawing on my knees, my shoulders and my finger-joints.
Whine? Me? Well, yeah. Right now I’m whining. But don’t worry. I’ll have myself back under control soon. The Blues don’t stick. I’m a born glass-half-full type, and even as I gripe and indulge in a little self-pity, I remind myself that this all could be much worse. I may be hurting right now, but I’m still mobile. I am comfortably warm, dry, well-fed and loved. I have painkillers that help damp the ache a bit, and I’m taking RA drugs that are, I must assume, keeping the dragon from going on a real, seriously disabling rampage.
And outside the windows, the signs of the upcoming Spring are everywhere. The almond trees are covered with white blossoms; the Japanese plums and ornamental cherry trees with ethereal pink. The squirrels are awake and scampering up and down the trees, busy as can be. I heard a robin the other day just singing his little heart out. And here at Mom’s house in the low foothills, we’ve had a nice mix of rain and sunshine during the last couple of weeks, even as many feet of snow has fallen high in the mountains. At my house up in Camino, Mr Wren reports we had two feet of it. So It seems California’s drought has ended—at least for this year. That’s really something to be thankful for.
My Mom continues to recover. It’s slow—it takes time to come back after being down for so long—but her spirits are mostly good. She’s eating much better. I made her a loaf of whole-grain banana bread on a whim (we had some overripe bananas that were about to get tossed) and, to my surprise and delight, she loves it. She’s been knoshing on banana bread several times a day. Although she does still wake in the morning with sciatic pain, one tablet of painkiller knocks it back, and she needs no more of it until the next morning. She’s getting well. And, in one of those whimsical turnabouts life tosses at us, while I fight this newest battle she’s helping me to take care of ME.
While I’m at the hospital today I’ll also be getting a blood test done, and I’m going to see if I can get an earlier appointment with the pain doc for more steroid shots (why not? Maybe a third try will be the charm) and an earlier appointment with my rheumatologist. I’m not scheduled to see him until May, but with the RA suddenly worsening, I really don’t want to wait that long.
Wish me luck.
Later: Arghhh! I should have known! Just got a call from the PT clinic. My therapist called in sick this morning. They had to reschedule my appointment. Fortunately, they were able to fit me in on Friday this week. The bright side? This time, the appointment is only days away, not several weeks. A good thing, or I might have just shot myself.