I am tired of the woe-is-me litany, but that’s where we are. I’m going in for a kyphoplasty procedure on Friday. The idea is to fill in the cracks/breaks in my spine with something like cement. To stabilize the spine. I can’t tell you how much I hurt, with every step. I can’t tell you, but I will. Since it’s what’s happening. It was a valiant try, coming to the lake, but after the kids leave, there’d be no one to look after us, bring us food, clean up for us. The old folks, in the little cottage, who have to be tended to. Who woulda thought?
I am looking out at a beautiful day in which I could be swimming, but I can’t. How do I feel about that? Well, I have had a lot of experience in bypassing trouble to find the sweet spot. Much indeed. So I’m working on this Wobbly, working on the newsletter for The-End-of-the- Line Club: a Diary, writing up a transcription of an interview I just did for that.
Meanwhile, my sister and I are buying beds to expand the sleeping space in the big cottage, since apparently everyone in the world wants to come here (no complaints from me). We’ve bought a folding twin bed for upstairs and a cool bunk bed for the downstairs bedroom that has a queen on the bottom, a twin on top.
The work from last winter is finished, the kitchen and bathroom spiffed up in the little cottage.
I do enjoy working on the newsletter(s). I would prefer physical activity for a while, for sure, but it isn’t possible. I’m losing muscle tone, but can’t be helped. We’re leaving the cottage early, on Aug. 23 instead of Sept. Which will make our pilgrimages to doctors far easier.
What can I make of all this, philosophically? Anything I feel like, I guess. Do I need to make something of it? I’m not sure I do. Do I need to feel cheated of lake time? Yeah, some, but none of this could be helped. The surgeon did the best he could, and what he did is still holding tight. I’m old, I have old bones.
The grandchildren are so different. Some darling and wonderful, some damaged early on, to one degree or another. All we can do is love them. Most are very smart. When the weather is good, some can hardly be hauled out of the water. Some just want to sit and read. Some beg to be taken to look for pretty stones. One thing: when you have enough children/grandchildren, you become very aware of the differences, the spark of genetics that shapes them. Adults seem like just what they are, kind of permanent fixtures. But you can watch the transformations of the little ones.
Of course we can watch the adults transform also. Jerry is struggling to walk. He isn’t in great shape, but he manages with the cane and a walker when necessary.
Next time I write, I should know whether the kyphoplasty has helped. If not, there is another Thing To Try.