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The baby aspirin years

~ Ms. Boice falls in love, travels and eats her way through life in the post-40 years.

The baby aspirin years

Tag Archives: reynauds

Confronting the enemy

01 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by Ms. Boice in Trips

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

aging, Carlsbad Caverns, Geology, hiking, National Park, nature, New Mexico, photography, reynauds, travel, vacation

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This is going to suck, I thought to myself. It was time to head up out of the cavern and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it. Not in the way of I thought it was going to be hard, but that I really was convinced that Steve would have to leave me for dead in the cavern. I suck at hiking and we just descended down a steep pathway for 1.25 miles and there was no way out except to walk it back up the steep climb, which–as you guessed–is the same 1.25 miles. Yes, 1.25 miles is really nothing. People in somewhat okay shape do it all the time. But I didn’t think my nearly half-century-old body was going to allow me.

We had stopped for a sandwich at the little cafe at the bottom, drank a big bottle of some green drink with electrolytes in the hopes that it would give me not just the physical, but also the mental strength to do what I needed to do. After some time I couldn’t delay the inevitable. It was time to go back up.

When Steve and I had walked down, I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle of stalagmites and stalactites of the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. The mythical shapes that were sometimes called whale’s mouth, lion’s tale or drapery were illuminated by up-lights like sculptures in a gallery or museum, yet the walk down into the bowels of the cavern was a walk into the absence of color–as if my life became film noir.

There were handrails all along the way, but the cavern’s temperature of 56ºF made them cold to the touch and I realized quickly that my ultra-sensitive fingers would quickly turn blue.  It’s a life hazard I’ve learned to deal with the past 10 years–fingers and toes that turn white, then blue and then eventually red–and I usually carry around gloves (oh, I have so many pairs of gloves), but this time I forgot them on this trip. Usually it’s not a problem, but without gloves deep in a cavern I could lose one or two fingers if I’m not able to get circulation to them. My solution became to just keep them in the pockets of my polar fleece jacket and occasionally Steve would take a hand and hold it tight in order to pass on the heat from his hand to mine to help my fingers thaw.

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Lion’s Tail

The path was nicely paved, making it a smooth walk down, albeit a little steep, throwing off my balance from time to time, so I’d grab on to the ice-cold handrail for a moment to steady myself. A young man in his 30s briskly trekked by with a long stride up the steep incline. He was grasping the ankles of a toddler perched on his shoulders, and at this point it didn’t register to me that the walk back up was going to be hard. But then I saw a man in his 50s who paused at one of the switchbacks. He clearly was on his way up and was clutching the handrail and he had his other hand over his chest. His breathing was loud and deep and I thought, Good Lord, someone should call someone to help this man. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

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Whale’s mouth

So at the bottom of the cavern in the little cafe all I could think about was that man who struggled for breath. I’m going to be 50 this year and I had been recently feeling my age, and while I was grateful to have survived menopause, what with it’s night sweats and sudden onset of low energy, I was not at all happy with the toll it has taken on my body. Muscles that were once there seemed to have abandoned me, while a new squishyness encircled my waistline. Something as simple as bending over to pick up something off the floor has become my own personal CrossFit challenge. My arm isn’t nearly long enough to hold a piece a paper to read. Words look like faded, blurry shapes on paper now and everything seems to hurt as I get old and I can’t turn the switch back. I am beginning to accept that aging is a cruel companion to which I’m now forever shackled.

But pouting wasn’t going to get me back up out of that cavern. “Let’s do this,” I said to Steve, and we began our climb up.

It wasn’t too bad at first. The way back was relatively flat and then the first steep path presented itself. Not a problem I thought to myself as I tried to mentally cheer my body. Up the path and then a switchback and then up again and switchback. Two more times and then I had to stop at the switchback and cling to the rail and I realized, I’m that man. Geez, I hope there’s a paramedic around.  “Let’s take a break,” I said to Steve after going a quarter of the way.

“We can take our time. We’re not in a hurry,” Steve kindly encouraged.

My breathing was heavy. My heart beat was a rapid staccato. “You know those people who do all that walking?” I asked Steve.

“Like the Pacific Coast Trail?” he  responded.

Still catching my breath. “Yeah. Or that pilgrimage in Spain or that walk in Scotland,” I added. “I honestly don’t understand how people do it or why people do it. I mean, I get so bored walking for so long.”

“Are you bored now?” he asked.

“No. I’m just focused on finishing.”

Drapery

Drapery

I’ve never been an athlete. Since the age of 10 I ended up in emergency rooms multiple times thanks to knee problems that led to three different knee surgeries between the age of 11 and 16. And when you have chronic knee problems you also get a special note from the doctor freeing you from all physical ed classes at junior and senior high school. I thought I had hit the jackpot–no climbing the rope, no running around a track and no horribly uncomfortable locker room showers. I was free of physical ed classes, but I also was no athlete.

I later learned no amount of Step Aerobics, Spinning or Zumba classes as an adult would make up for lost time. I’ve just never been able to catch up cardiovascularly. And now my body is turning on me and there’s not an apology in the world that it will accept. It’s my enemy now.

Back on the path my heart rate got back to normal very quickly, which was a relief, and I said, “Let’s go.”

Calf muscles were stretching like pulled taffy with each step I took. My quads. My butt. They were all working together and I kept mentally scolding myself for not taking the stairs at the office more often. You wouldn’t be having this problem if you would just take the stairs, I kept thinking.This was not uplifting me at all as I continued the climb. Walk a little. Rest a little. Get my heart rate down. This was repeated over and over as we walked the steep pathway out of the darkness. Then back to walking some more. My injured ankle from my accident in Zion National Park over five years ago was beginning to swell. I kept checking my fingers for loss of color and when I did, I reached for Steve’s hand. He knew what to do as this has been our drill since we met.

After an hour and 45 minutes of enduring the steep pathway out of the cavern I then heard voices raised in excitement. “Ah, light!” I heard someone exclaim. I could feel the muscles in my legs power up as if recharged and my pace quickened. My heart was still racing, the dampness of my t-shirt from my sweat chilled my back shoulders. I felt like a mess, but I somehow got the energy I needed to climb out of this darkness.

It was too bright. I had to squint as the light that poured in from the outside burned my eyes. A collective sense of euphoria came over those of us ascending out of the cavern. Color was back. Oh, how I had missed it these past four hours. The light was relief as it touched my skin and warmed me. My fingers thankfully turned their natural color, and my 50-ish body–this enemy of mine–managed to get me out of the darkness.

Yes, thank you body. But I’m going to start taking the stairs more back at the office, so be warned.

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Journey from Bocas del Toro to Changuinola, Panama

23 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by Ms. Boice in Trips

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Almarante, bird watching, birding, birds, blogging, Bocas del Toro, Bocas Water Sports, Changuinola, David City, journal, Los Quetzales Lodge, Panama, Playa Tortuga, reynauds, scleroderma, scuba diving, taxi, travel, writing PADI

I’m writing this post on a very hard bed in a $30/night “hotel” in the town of Changuinola, Panama. If you’ve ever eaten a Chiquita banana it likely came from Changuinola.

Those of you who know me well know that #1 I would never be at a $30/night hotel, and #2 if I were, I likely would not admit it. Let me explain how we got here.

We were supposed to check out of our hotel at Bocas del Toro tomorrow, but realized that we should probably get to Changuinola earlier so we could pick up our car to drive the 4-5 hour journey to our next stop at Los Quetzales Lodge in Guadalupe, near the Boquette volcano area to begin the birding portion of our Panama adventure. Turns out, no matter how much research one does ahead of time, you really don’t know how things really work until you get there. After a couple of days on the island and with a little bit of intel from locals we figured we should get to Changuinola a day earlier to get our car and make the drive through the mountains so we didn’t have to search for the Lodge in the dark.

Just after checking out of Playa Tortuga–our Bocas accommodations–it began to rain. No, correct that–it was a downpour. 20120323-173910.jpg

I almost aborted our dive plans today because of the rain. No, I’m not chicken. It’s just that I get easily chilled on the boat when I can’t get dry. (Blame the whole scleroderma / reynaud’s thing I’ve got going on.) But I’m glad I did the dives anyway. It was warm in the water and Panama–Bocas del Toro in particular–is a great place for beginner divers, which I still consider myself. (I only had 30 dives under my belt when I arrived. Now I have 36!)

The water here is calm and tranquil. I took advantage of that and practiced putting on my BCD in the water rather than strapping it and the tank onto me in the boat. I actually like the backward roll off a boat, but I hate standing with that tank and BCD. Not sure I could to the BCD thing in the water at othr places. Sometimes the water is just a little too rocky for me. But in Panama it was nice.

Visibility in the water is not spectacular. It’s no Belize or Cozumel, that’s for sure, but I saw some new species, including loads of star fish, trumpet fish and squid.

The other good thing about diving in Bocas is that it’s so economical. We paid only $54 pp for a two-tank dive. Plus, the boats are smaller, which means fewer people/divers in your group. The attention you get is so much more personal. We dove all three days with Bocas Water Sports. Loved them! They’re a PADI operation and the owner, John, from the States, is a hoot.

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We had lunch at Under the Palm Restaurant after our dives. If you’re ever at Bocas del Toro I highly recommend it.
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It was away from Hostel Row and the food was pretty darn good and it was quiet. It also has the most awesome bathroom in town with really soft, Charmin-like toilet paper.

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Following lunch we made our way to the water taxi to get back to the mainland. Water taxis are pretty cheap–only $5 pp. I was a little worried that our luggage at the very back was going to fly off at any moment. Not sure it was strapped down. Wondered what I would do if it did end up in the ocean. Trying not to worry, I turned my attention to the mangroves and the occasional motorized canoe going by. (At one point, I spotted a little family of three in their canoe. Mom was in the front paddling and older brother in the back paddling while little sister was in the middle with a little white bucket bailing out water. Not a good sign.)

As soon as the water taxi arrived at Almarante we were met by three very enterprising young men, about 16 years or so who asked us if we needed a taxi and as soon as we said yes, each grabbed one of our bags and started walking. “We’ll get you a taxi,” one of them said.

We obediently followed the three on a gravel road for about five yards, then one of the young men hollered to a yellow taxi, which was about 30 yards away and about to go another direction, but he backed up and then drove toward us. Like little worker bees, the young men dumped our luggage in the trunk of the car and I gave then each a $1 tip for their help. Quite the little operation they got going there.

Off we go! It was to be about a 40 minute drive to Changuinola and only costs $20 by taxi. Bargain. Except as soon as I got in, I noticed no seat belts. I was hoping that we didn’t need them, but this wasn’t my first time as a passenger in a Panamanian taxi. Hence my nerves. The drive was hilly and thank goodness the road was good, even if the drivers weren’t. For awhile there I thought I was living the real life version of my favorite app game, “Tiny Wings,” and resisted the temptation to yell out, “Wa Hoooooooo!”

At one point, it began to rain pretty seriously and so our driver pulled over and reached into his glove compartment to pull out a wrench. “Holy cow,” I thought. He’s going to kill us Clue style or the car is dead. Just roll with it.”

Glad I rolled. Turns out the only way to get the windows up was by wrench. He opened my door and where there was no handle crank to roll up the window he used the wrench to turn the little piece of protruding metal so the window would go up. “Automatic windows!” he exclaimed.

Ha Ha! His car might be a piece of crap, but he’s got a sense of humor about it. I should too. (Though I have to tell you that as we descended from every hill I was praying they guy’s brakes were working.)

He made his way around the car and did the same for Steve’s window. Okay, so now it will be warm in the car (no air conditioning, natch), but hey, the guy made sure we didn’t get wet. He deserves a good tip!

Our driver did get us to our hotel in Changuinola safely and I did give him a good tip. We chose the hotel because it was where the Avis rental car company is. We would stay the night here and then leave first thing in the morning with our car for our long drive to Los Quetzales Lodge.

Turns out, Avis, in spite of my initial confirmation upon booking several weeks ago and second confirmation from them via email just 3 days ago, there is no car. There’s an Avis representative, but he has no cars. (What the what?)

SO glad we left Bocas to get here a day earlier. Otherwise, we’d be in a world of hurt. Turns out, there’s a bus that goes to David City, where there’s an airport and it’s just outside of where our next accommodations are, so the agent here (who clearly has nothing else to do since he has no cars) called David City Avis and got us a car booked. Well, fingers crossed.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a very hard bed (it seems to be a foam mattress on plywood) writing as our scuba gear and swimsuits dry out–we have it all hanging around the room, so we look very third-world ourselves and Steve is sleeping/snoring while I type and eat a package of Chips Ahoy cookies. The air conditioner is so loud that it’s actually drowning out Steve’s snoring and I can’t help but be amused by the wall art in our room.
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Why a $30 hotel? Folks, it’s truly the best place in town. We had no choice and remember, we’re not in Panama City. Changuinola is still pretty third-world. Maybe second-world at best. All I care about right now is that we got here in one piece, we have a place to sleep, we have transportation via bus to David City and we have a rental car waiting for us there. I do know that Los Quetzales lodge has a spa. I’m so booking a massage once I get there.

Now time to watch “Hillbilly Handfishin'” in Espanol on the telly (“Pescadores Lunes!”) Seems to be all that’s on. I’m just rollin’ with it.

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Between Thanksgivings

20 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by Ms. Boice in Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

lupus, physical therapy, rehabiliat, reynauds, scleroderma, surgery, Thanksgiving, Utah, Zion National Park, Zumba

The following are “journal entries” I either documented on Facebook or jotted down in a notebook this past year. It chronicles the year as I worked my way through coping with my broken leg/ankle.

November 25, 2010 – Thanksgiving Day,

A pretty fantastic Thanksgiving meal at local restaurant, Tuscany. Love that it’s just down the street from us and after a short nap, we hit the road for the four-hour drive to Zion National Park in Southern Utah!

November 26, 2010 – Oh Crap.

The day started out beautifully. We hiked Emerald Pools and though it was very chilly, I felt energized and so excited to be enjoying the beauty. But on the way down I slid on some ice and hurt my ankle. (Well, “hurt” sounds too minor. The foot was actually pointing the wrong direction.) Let me be clear: IT HURT LIKE HELL! Steve and two lady hikers who came upon us dragged me about 800 meters while we waited for the Park Ranger to arrive. We were worried about hypothermia setting in, hence the need to get me out of the shade and into the sun. I was worried about my hands and feet. I have Reynaud’s Syndrome, which in most instances is just inconvenient, as it makes my hands and feet turn white, then purple, and then red and swollen when exposed to cold. But in this case, I was worried that I’d get frost bite much quicker than the average person.

Search and Rescue eventually reached me and carried me out. Still, at this point, I’m thinking it’s just a sprained ankle. I was loaded into the ambulance and taken an hour away to St. George.

So I broke my tibia and fibula. Seems as though I have to have surgery so I opted to have it done back in Salt Lake City. After loads of drugs, the staff tried to put Humpty Dumpty back together again and wrapped up my leg and we went back to the hotel in Zion.

November 29, 2010 – Phone calls

First call: Call work to let them know it’s going to be awhile before I make it into work, which has me really worried. I just started this job FOUR WEEKS AGO! (I actually texted to my boss the picture of me being carried off by Search and Rescue. There’s nothing better than great proof on why you’re not going to be in the office.)

Second call: Find a surgeon. So how do you shop around for a surgeon? Well, you start making phone calls. I finally decided to call my Physical Therapist who actually worked with me the previous summer on that very same ankle. (For acute achilles tendonitis.) First of all, she was not happy to hear that I messed up a perfectly good ankle but did give me the name of a good surgeon.

Third call: MOM!!!! Steve’s great and all, but I needed my mother around. She knows how to deal with these things.

November 30, 2010 – New Hardware

Today is surgery day. Feeling okay about it until I saw this Reader’s Digest sitting in the waiting room before I went in.

Everything seemed to have come out okay. A plate, five screws and 2 pins later I looked like this:

December 1 – 10, 2010 – The Lost Days

Don’t remember much about the 10 days following surgery. Except there was a lot of television (I watched so much HGTV that I’m certain I can build a house, decorate it and landscape it with no problem), a lot of vomiting (and mom was always there with the bucket), and a lot of pain. Actually, it wasn’t pain, it was just extreme discomfort. I learned a big lesson–the difference between being in pain and being uncomfortable. And that’s how I got off my pain meds so quickly.

December 24, 2010 – On Our Own

Mom left to go back to Oregon today. I was very, very sad to see her go. I hope that one day I can be like her and drop everything to go help someone for 25 days. Okay, let’s see how Steve does this on his own.

January 4, 2011 – Back to Work

I needed a wheelchair to go back to work. I had crutches, of course, but it’s a little problematic when your hands are swollen all the time like mine are (the Reynaud’s and this crazy autoimmune thing I’ve got going on), but mostly, it’s tough carrying around a laptop and notebook to meetings when you’re on crutches. I’m tired a lot. I’m also feeling quite lost–remember, I just started this job and was in it for only four weeks before I was out on medical for five weeks. I hate talking to my direct reports in a wheelchair or while sitting down. I have to look up at them. I feel like I’m not very commanding or even important. I’ve also discovered what’s ADA compliant in the office and what isn’t. I’m so dehydrated because I try not to drink water so I don’t have to use the bathroom at work. It’s such an ordeal–I have to take the elevator to another floor to use an ADA compliant bathroom.

January 10, 2011 – Project Runway

This injury changes just about everything. It’s hard to look cute when you’ve got the Storm Trooper boot on. But thank goodness for footless tights. (Regular tights pulled too much on the injured foot.) A whole world of possibilities have opened for me now.

And I’ve become the queen of online purchasing. It’s just too much of an ordeal to go out shopping in either the wheelchair or on crutches. Navigating around in the wintertime just feeds my fear of slipping.

February 4, 2011 – Physical Therapy

I love my physical therapist, but this time around I’m beginning to hate her. Big crocodile tears rolled down my face today as she pushed on my ankle to try to get back my dorsal flection. This can’t be happening, I thought. What if I can’t walk again? Those are real thoughts. But the more profound thought for me has been around, “What if I get fatter?” This injury couldn’t have come at a worse time. I have a chronic illness already (at the time we thought it was lupus), I have an extraordinarily busy job, I travel, and I already needed to lose a few pounds. Now this?! Ugh. So endure the pain, I must. I’m now doing physical therapy three times a week.

February 15, 2011 – Shoes!

Today I can wear shoes!

February 20, 2011 – Navigating Airports

I’ve had two business trips for work since the accident. Steve’s been my sherpa for both trips. Thank goodness he has the flexibility to do that. The whole airport thing is an ordeal, though. It does allow me to bump to the front of the line, but getting through security is a more manual process. Poor Steve’s back–he’s had to manage the luggage and me in the wheel chair. While in Orlando, we had some time and went to Cocoa Beach and I practiced walking on the sand with the help of my crutches.

March 12, 2011 – Hiring a Trainer

I’m not done with physical therapy yet, but I went back to the gym and hired a trainer anyway. Steve also is training along with me, so it’s turned out to be quite fun. It’s been 3 and 1/2 months since I’ve broken out in a sweat that wasn’t induced by some sort of medication or menopause, so it felt great to feel a little raise in endorphins. It’s still a little awkward–I can’t do everything I used to do, but I’m determined. Besides, my clothes don’t seem to be fitting anymore and it’s getting quite depressing. I have to do something about this weight gain. All this sitting around for 3 plus months just sucks.

June 3, 2011 – Graduation Day

Today I graduated from Physical Therapy. You get a t-shirt when you graduate.It’s kind of weird, because for the past 4 and 1/2 months the folks at Mountain Land Physical Therapy have been a big part of my life.

I still have a great deal of work to do–my dorsal flection still is not where it should be and I still limp. Moreso, my confidence isn’t where it should be.

June 16, 2011 – What goes around comes around

Steve had surgery oh his nose today. It’s his turn to get all the attention and I’m happy to help him out. I don’t think I could ever do enough to repay him back for all the help he’s been to me.

August 9, 2011 – Getting older just doesn’t help

I turned 45 today. I still limp from my injury, though. My legs (both of them) are still stiff. I think the 3 and 1/2 months of not walking took its toll on my body. I know I don’t have lupus…I can sense it. Thank goodness I have an appointment with a new rheumatologist and hopefully I can get some answers. I seem to be working long hours at the office, which isn’t helping anything with my body right now. Will have to seek a balance somehow.

September 5, 2011 – Zumba

I may still limp. I may have those days where I feel like I’m moving in cement (thank you, autoimmune disease, which I now know is scleroderma), but there’s something about Zumba that helps with both my confidence and my ability to still feel like I can move. I do not lie when I say that there are sometimes I’m nearly moved to tears during a Zumba class. It’s almost the same feeling I’ve gotten when doing yoga. I think it must tap into something inside of me that brings my emotions to the surface.

The best part is this: I often limp as I walk into Zumba and when I’m done I can walk pretty normally.

November 20, 2011 – Cycling through it all

This brings me to here–just days before Thanksgiving. I think this week I’ve turned a corner. Sure, I’ve gained 15 pounds this year WHICH I BLAME SOLELY ON THIS INJURY! But I’m at the point now where I can just let it all go and try to get back on track. It’s been a year of making my place at a new job, getting my confidence back with simple things like walking, and learning to receive help from others. I also feel that this year I was able to move forward in getting answers for my chronic condition–learning that it’s not one disease but another one.

My father died suddenly and unexpectedly on January 3rd in 1996. It was a tough year that followed, but I remember distinctively that I felt as though a burden was lifted as I rang the New Year in with my mom on 1997. I felt as though I was done cycling through that year and it was time to move on. Big things happened to me as I moved forward. I went to graduate school, moved up the career ladder, traveled and eventually found my husband.

I think I’m done cycling through with this injury now. I still have a ways to go with getting my foot back to normal, but I want to let go of the fear.

Oh, and I want to let go of all those medical bills too.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

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