Tag health and fitness

And the latest medical stuff…

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

7:30 a.m., Wednesday, April 5: Yesterday I was discharged from hand rehab with John at The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation. My hand strength in my right hand is stronger than my left hand, so even though my pinky doesn’t quite have all the functionality it should, John thinks with proper use and exercise at home I can handle recovery.

As John said, implying that he could trust me to monitor and invest in my own hand health, “with everything you have on your plate, this is a mere flesh wound.”

Indeed.

With that, I had my last session of rolling and smashing silly putty and twirling balls in my hand. Really, hand therapy is not that far from children’s play. As an adult, there’s not enough activities that involve silly putty.

After a weekend of high blood pressure, my body suddenly feels low– and my blood pressure is on the low side, even after coffee, and I’m light-headed and feel as if my blood sugar could be low, despite snacking on a slice of fresh pizzeria pizza (I found that real pizza versus Dominoes or frozen varieties does not have the sodium and preservatives that impact my numbers) when I took my evening dose of Lopressor. I ate breakfast, and that helped some, but not enough. I also had an 8-ounce glass of water.

So, as my primary care doctor is signing off on me returning to work on Monday and we’re still waiting for my cardiologist’s report, I’m terrified that something might happen today. But I don’t want to manifest my own misfortune. It’s interesting to note that today was supposed to be my first day back to work, but I still have physical therapy during the day this week, and I felt better knowing my cardiologist should have the info he needs by then in case we need to make adjustments to my treatment plan.

The manufacturer of the Zio sent a push notification to my phone that they received my device and will have the data to my doctor soon.

My left hip, according to my physical therapist, was tight Monday, and now my right hip is giving me issues, the kind of issues it often has when compensating for the left hip.

I should have taken a shower last night, but I thought it would be nice to shower in the morning, but then I remembered I have physical therapy and the gym today… but I might have to take two showers today. I need to see if I can shake this feeling of brain fog and lightheadedness. By then, it will be 8 a.m. and I can call my doctor’s office. They are next door to physical therapy so maybe one of the medical assistants can take my blood pressure. Because my neurologist would be mad at me if I ignore this.

8:20 a.m. After a hot shower and exposure to The Teenager’s work drama– not being able to get into a client’s house to feed the dog– my blood pressure is now high. So I don’t know whether to call the doctor or not. I put on my sports bra inside out and my shirt backwards.

8:30 a.m. I called the doctor’s office. They won’t let a nurse or medical assistant take my blood pressure because they would like a doctor there because of my history. I have an 11:15 a.m. appointment, directly after my physical therapy, with one of the residents, I think, because it says my doctor’s name but that’s not what she told me. But it usually shows the resident’s names so we’ll see.

9 a.m. I decide to play with the Stitch Fix style algorithm before leaving as I only have a couple minutes. This will be important later… because brain fog. That was another symptom I’m struggling with– I put on my sports bra inside out and my shirt backwards.

Brief interlude while I am thinking of it. My hospital EOB came yesterday, as did updates as to some of my other medical visits. It’s obscene to see the battle between medical providers and private insurance companies. When did this become an acceptable model of business? The hospital charged my insurance company almost $18, 500 for one day of services. The insurance company pays a pre-negotiated rate of $2,500 and I get bill about $300.

In a similar fashion– the medical office billed the insurance company for the resident who so patiently spent 30 minutes removing three stitches from my face. It was itemized as “surgery” and the provider billed $66, of which the insurance company paid $13. And left $1.50 for me. So this poor resident, who worked her way through medical school and had to dig the stitches out of my scabby face, isn’t even worth $30/hour?

9:40 a.m. I arrived at Physical Therapy to sit and read my book until my appointment. Yesterday, I finished Susie Bright’s How to Read/Write an Erotic Story and I have every intention of finishing Suzanne Mattaboni’s Once in a Lifetime today.

10 a.m. or there-abouts: physical therapy with Jimmy, instead of Eric, because it’s Eric’s birthday, and his colleagues suggest that this might not be his first thirtieth birthday. I am also informed that the goal today is to poke fun at Eric as much as possible because he’s not there to defend himself.

Summary of Physical Therapy: I worked hard and found myself pushing and having good balance despite the issues with my quasi-lightheadedness. As usual, my left side is tighter than my left, but I notice as the day goes on my discomfort on the right seems to be correcting itself.

I also told my physical therapist about The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation and my mallet finger that I did last year, right before Easter. I explained how I ruptured the tendon pulling my socks off. He’s now afraid to take his socks off.

10:40 a.m. I stop at the car to update my notes and drink some water. This massive Audi SUV is parked next to me, requiring that I turned sideways to slip into my car. I take my blood pressure: 122/71.

10:50 a.m. I walk down to the primary care office, and finally put the facts together that between the physical therapy office and the family practice, there is a pediatrician. That’s why I always hear screaming children though the wall. I use the rest room and open my book.

11 a.m. My doctor’s assistant takes me back to the exam room, and confirms that I will be seeing my doctor. She’s the same person I correspond with through the portal, and who fills out all my paperwork with the patience of a saint. She doesn’t weigh me and this disappoints me because I think all this healthy eating has resulted in a smidge of weight loss.

If we’re honest, I feel silly. My head still doesn’t feel right, but I’m fine… I mean I’m going to be cautious but it could be so many things: blood sugar, blood pressure, the beta blocker, allergies or even the pollution from the major industrial fire a mile away yesterday or heck even stress… but the neurologist said… Everyone in the office, including the doctor, reassured me that I did the right thing since no one wants me to fall again.

My blood pressure was 120/77, which is pretty darn close to my car reading so that proves that my monitor is reading my blood pressure accurately and the presence of the doctors does not cause my blood pressure to increase.

Alpha Books J Journal

11:10 a.m. the assistant leaves and I open up the final pages of my book. And I finish it in five minutes.

11:30 a.m. the doctor arrives. He sees my Alpha Books J journal in my lap and starts asking questions. Then he asks why I am there– that my chart just says “high blood pressure.” I explain that no, it’s actually lightheadedness that started with low blood pressure but hasn’t abated since my blood pressure returned to normal levels, and that the neurologist made me promise not to ignore symptoms like lightheadedness.

I explain that I got out of bed a tad clumsier than usual, after ten minutes of trying to force myself up despite 9.5 hours sleep, and I just attributed it to stiff cerebral palsy legs. But as I went downstairs and turned the lights on, I realized I was a tad lightheaded.

I poured a glass of water, took my blood pressure and my meds, and made a cup of weak (for me) coffee and finished my water and had fruit and toast.

I pass the doctor my list of blood pressure readings and tell him my first of the day was 102/68, followed by 108/65 an hour later.

He peruses the list I gave him and asks, “do you have some fancy blood pressure device that takes your blood pressure every hour?”

“No,” I say. “I’m just neurotic.”

He chuckles. “It’s not bad,” he says. “It gives me data to work with. I have patients I can’t get to take their blood pressure once a day.”

“I know you’re going to ask me what happens in certain situations, so I just want to see if I can anticipate the questions so I have the answers. Like there’s definitely a difference when I eat pizza from the local pizzeria that uses real ingredients versus Dominoes.”

He mentions I should track my pulse. I told him I look at it when I take my blood pressure because the neurologist mentioned it but I haven’t written it down. I haven’t noticed anything. And I didn’t tell him about the symptom diary I started. But I did come home and add heart rate to my iPhone tracking info. I really need an Apple Watch. Okay, I want an Apple Watch, but I refuse to consider buying one until my business computer is paid off and I replenish my savings and pay off the credit card bills I ran up during this hiatus from work.

He performs some basic exams, and has the nurse take my blood pressure lying down, then sitting, then standing up. If the low pressure is caused by gravitational pull on my body, or something like that, my blood pressure will drop as I quickly force myself upright.

My blood pressure spiked (142/100) suggesting that I tensed, which I did, because the sudden movement made me feel like I was swaying. And I braced my muscles, afraid I might fall.

So, the next test in our journey through Angel’s recent career as a face-diving professional, is to half the dosage of my Lopressor. My doctor thinks he found a note made while I was in the hospital that the IV medication made me dizzy and that’s why they switched me to the oral tablets. I don’t recall this, but a lot happened that night… so I asked The Teen much later, and she said no, my memory is correct. I read the note the doctor found, and I believe, though I could be wrong, that the real problem is doctors have no skill at writing and this leads to misinterpretation. Ooooh, maybe I need to start a “Clearer Writing Styles for Doctors” workshop.

And since my echocardiogram was perfect, and he reviewed it there with me, but I’d already read it, he wondered if the beta blocker was necessary at all (ironic since he was trying to get me on blood pressure medication for the last two-plus years) and/or if the Afib was an isolated incident. I dispute this theory, because I had two unexplained, nearly identical falls within two weeks.

My doctor reduced my beta blocker in half, which meant I had to remember to go buy a pill splitter because I already have the tiniest pills I ever saw. And he also suggested taking some sort of hydration beverage into my bedroom– a G2 gatorade or a Propel– to drink before getting out of bed.

And he closed with something like, “these are the kind of things I have to tell my patients who are 70 or 80, but unlike them, you’ll listen.”

Then he asks, “when is your next appointment?”

Not until August, I reply. He looks to me in disbelief. “I want to see you before that.”

And he sends a note to the cardiologist that he reduced my beta blocker and asks him to review the data from the Zio patch. The same Zio patch that just returned to the manufacturer yesterday.

I mention I will see the cardiologist May 5, if that matters when scheduling our next rendez-vous.

“I want you to check in in the next couple days,” he directs me, “and I want to see you next week.”

“How about April 20?” I ask. “It’s in the middle of now and April 5 and I already have to take the day off for some CT scans at the hospital and physical therapy.”

I’m going back April 20, at 8:30 in the morning, to meet with one of the residents. I didn’t think to check which one.

12:10 p.m. I leave and head to my friend Maryann Ignatz’s house to bring her some books she ordered and visit.

2 p.m. CVS. The computers have gone insane. I don’t think this will impact me as I peruse the aisles. My list is simple: a better lotion for scar care, an electrolyte drink, a blood pressure monitor, and a pill splitter.

Now, I have a borrowed monitor and I’d rather have an Apple Watch connected to a wireless monitor cuff…

And the only thing on the list today I need right away is the pill splitter.

So I find one for $8.49 and I have a 40% off coupon that expires today. I also find Propel dry powder packets that go into a water bottle– I think $3.49 for ten packets. On Amazon, the already constituted Propel Water in the same flavor costs $8.38 for 12 bottles, which is 70 cents a bottle or twice the price. I even placed one of my reusable water bottles by my bed, and I picked one with a screw-on lid designed for my bike so it’s less likely to spill.

The blood pressure monitors start at $62, and the $62 one provide $10 in Extra Bucks, but I don’t want to spend that much now.

And the only lotions “better” than the ones I have at home start at $10 and the ones specifically for scars are $20.

And on top of all that, the system doesn’t really register my Extra Care card, so it says I was logged in, but it didn’t use my coupon.

I never pay full price at CVS.

And we’re not going to talk about the fact that they were sold out of jelly beans.

3:30 p.m. I make a run to the bank and take the dog for a trip to Dunkin’ for Munchkins. Oh, and the teen. I eat too many jelly munchkins, drink a cold brew and eat one of their salty processed sandwiches, their completely not-a-Grilled Cheese with their sun-dried tomatoes. Not worth the money I paid. My blood pressure does not change. I cancel the gym for tonight because I still don’t feel stable.

I come home and I cut a pill. The Teenager then insists she can do it better and that I’m sloppy.

vegan tofu salad with lime dressing and cucumbers

4 p.m. I spend some time with my cockatoo, and tend to some self-care details and start laundry.

6 p.m. The Teen and I make salads with tofu nuggets and romaine and cucumbers. The Teen devours heaps of romaine and cucumber. With a homemade fresh lime dressing.

I mention to the Teen that KFC has nuggets now.

“Really, Mom?” she protests. “You expect me to eat tofu after mentioning KFC?”

And then I proceed to drop the knife several times while chopping vegetables. I’m amazed I still have all my toes. Brain fog is so real.

6:45 p.m. I text the neurologist just to update her.

7 p.m. I place my last load of laundry into the dryer and find a half pill of my beta blocker on the table.

I call the teen’s name.

“Did I not take this with dinner? Did I miss my mouth?”

“I doubt you missed your mouth,” she reassures me. “It probably just slipped out of the bottle.”

“I could count them,” I say.

“And if there is an even number, you fucked up,” she says.

It was an odd number.

7:30 p.m. I finally retire to my room hoping to start a new book as part of my pre-bed, no screens ritual. I make the bed, feed the cats, put my Propel packets in my drawer and organize my lotion (for scar massage on my finger and my face) and my water bottle. But first I have to finish this blog entry. And I notice– to my chagrin– that somehow this morning I changed my next Fix from May 18 to April 18. Hopefully I can change it back before the stylist grabs it, because my charge card needs to take a little vacation from my wallet until I rebuild my rocky finances.

And that, friends, was my day. Louise the Tripod is snuggled against me, kicking me with her back feet and snoring. I still need to give the bird water, make my Propel, brush my teeth and massage my scars. So, if you think I’ve been over here partying during this short-term disability leave, I have not.

College Hill Capers, or “A walk with Gayle in the cold, cold air”

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I started my day with some blogging before starting the morning round of doctors and my final day with the Zio heart monitor. I left at 8:30 for my chiropractor appointment, which also involves some physical therapy stretching and some balance assessment. With Nicole’s background, she serves an important cog in the wheel to know what she’s seeing and feeling as my body goes through it’s day to day.

But I’ve been feeling physically great, even if the beta blockers leave me prone to crashing and sometimes my blood pressure falling too low, but hey– that’s part of what the heart monitor is all about.

I went to the chiropractor and tried to demonstrate my impressive “trying to walk like a normal person” skills. And Nicole was encouraging. It’s exhausting and requires ridiculous amounts of focus, so I’m hoping it makes a difference to my hip issues and my femoral anteversion.

My chiropractor is just-about next door to the Lafayette College Store, where I needed to pick up some copies of our Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money anthology that we provided for last night’s Jean Corrie Poetry Reading and Ice Cream Social. You can read about that on the Parisian Phoenix Publishing web site here.

They were having a store meeting when I arrived, so I excused myself to a couch by the store manager’s office to wait for Gayle who wanted one of Maryann Riker’s unique handmade journals. I’m in the middle of Suzanne Mattaboni’s Pencraft award winning novel, Once in a Lifetime so I can safely amuse myself.

They also have some fascinating tile in the bathroom.

When she arrived, we went for a walk around College Hill, which Gayle had not visited since she left her job at Lafayette College circa 2015.

We walked about 4,000 steps and I stumbled three times and caught myself every one. It’s the longest walk I’ve taken since my hospitalization.

And I asked The Teen to evaluate my walking and she immediately said, “Nope. Your left foot is still messed up.”

And I was trying so hard.

Gayle and I then met up with Joan and the guys from Echo City Capers, where we discussed our upcoming events and book launches.

Then I came home and ripped off the Zio monitor, only to realize quite quickly why it itched so badly.

Our long-term foster Minerva is off to a habitat at the Phillipsburg Petco tonight.

All of it: the medical stuff, the Stitch Fix stuff and the friend stuff

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Yesterday was Monday and I went for my second full physical therapy session. I admitted to him that the weekend got so crazy that time got away from me and I didn’t do as many stretches as the paper told me to. My therapist told me that was okay, as long as I was trying to walk as we practiced on the anti-gravity treadmill and kept stretching my hips to fight the internal rotation.

And I had another great session on the treadmill.

I also did extensive editing before and after physical therapy, to the point where I think I will have Larry Sceurman’s short stories ready for his approval tomorrow and I don’t see any reason why we wouldn’t send them to Gayle for design by early early April.

Later in the day, I went to the gym where we did primarily back and shoulders but also hip and core. That right hip, in a very specific location, was very unhappy with me. It’s something I’m going to have to look into with my physical therapist and my chiropractor and maybe my neurologist. My fitness coach Andrew wondered if it might be my IT band.

I noticed my fingers have not been tingling as they had.

I texted Gayle last night–if I made it up the stairs and to bed I would have earned my “fourteen days without a fall” graphic.

It arrived today.

I went to bed at 8 p.m. last night but couldn’t fall asleep until 9. I woke up around 2 a.m. and cuddled Louise for a while. I think she woke me, and I can’t help but wonder if she senses something about my heart rhythm. I heard my neighbor start his car at 5:45 and forced myself out of bed as my alarm was due to go off at 6.

I was exhausted. My blood pressure was perfect– 115/76– which made me think I should skip the morning coffee. But I needed to drive about 20 miles in morning highway traffic. I needed my wits about me.

A handful of peanuts, my SSRI, a beta blocker and a muscle relaxer, and a cup of coffee and I was good to go.

Hand therapy is always fascinating. Today I did the exercises I did last time (read about those here) and squeezed some putty. My therapist John took some measurements of my finger, and other than the swelling, there is only one angle that still has limited motion. So he gave me a piece of elastic and a safety pin to try and stretch it.

After hand therapy I called Nan, as I had promised to take her to the bank and to CVS. I had run out of Zyrtec the day before, and CVS had texted me and said my SSRI refill was ready. Still no word on my baclofen, the muscle relaxer prescribed by my neurologist. She had called me in late February (mere days before my first fall) and said she was sending in a prescription with six months of refills. The next day, CVS texted that they had received the prescription but the medicine was out of stock. I never heard from them again. I am almost out, but haven’t been taking it because they didn’t give it to me in the hospital.

I stopped along the way at Panera to use the bathroom and grab a cookie for breakfast. Panera makes an amazing oatmeal cookie with dried blueberries and raisins. When you consider the sodium, calories, sugar and protein, it’s one of the healthier choices. And it’s delicious. So I got one for me and for Nan.

I almost got back on the road forgetting my cookies, because I ran into a fellow library board member who called to me from across the store.

Once I picked Nan up we had a great time visiting her usual teller at the bank, whom we hadn’t seen in a while; going to the Dollar Tree (or as we like to say now the $1.25 cent store) for Easter decorations and cookies, where we ran into someone who lives in Nan’s old apartment building; and the most magic place of all– CVS.

We went to the pharmacy first. My SSRI was free, and I asked about my baclofen. They said my doctor canceled the order. I showed them the text, and I was told that was very weird and that I should call my doctor. I wonder if they asked her for a refill on the old prescription at the same time she sent a script for the new one, so she said no to their request, and they canceled both.

Nancy needed ibuprofen, a hair barrette and some Lysol wipes. I needed allergy medicine.

I had a coupon for $10 off 90 count Zyrtec or the house brand was on sale buy 1 get 1 50% off, with a $4 off coupon. I got 2-120 bottles for $40-something, versus the $60 the name brand would have cost for 90.

CVS brand pain relief was on sale, the big bottle was $19.49 and the smaller bottle was $14.49, but we had a coupon for $4 or $5 off $15 purchase, AND the smaller bottle had an expiration date of this summer versus late next spring like the bigger bottle. I had a 40% off coupon. So I thought that could cover the barrettes. The Lysol wipes were also on sale and we got the 35-count, and we had a 40-cent manufacturer coupon. (All the coupons came from the CVS app.) Nan’s total started around $32 and she ended up paying $19. In other words, she got everything for the original cost of the ibuprofen.

She loves accompanying me to CVS.

I brought Nan home, and when I got to my house I discovered that MY FIRST FIX ARRIVED FROM THE BIZZY HIZZY! I have been waiting to get a fix from Stitch Fix for 12 years! Joan opened it with me via Zoom.

I then ate a massive bowl of falafel and vegetables. I sent out a newsletter on Substack. Read that here. And attended a library board meeting tonight.

And don’t forget: Darrell Parry is hosting (and served as judge) for the Jean Corrie Poetry Reading & Ice Cream Social at Lafayette College Thursday. See the Substack or Facebook for details.

The easy way we are amused (and some medical stuff because I’m me)

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Here I am, looking less exhausted and beaten. My scabs were flaking off and healing nicely but some of them cracked today (vigorous chewing? It happened at lunch time) and started bleeding. I’m still impressed at how quickly the body can heal, but these stitches feel like flies on my face.

I left the house early today to visit Koch 33 Collision. In early February, a work colleague’s car happened to give mine a love bite on the entrance ramp of 22– this was early on in the days of my unknown cardiac troubles when the symptoms were starting to show. I remember not because my heart had anything to do with that situation but because I joked about minor car accidents just adding more stress to my life. The estimate will cost less than $1500, hopefully the insurance companies can agree to that.

When I came home, I made myself my first cup of coffee for the day. I have slowly been changing my morning coffee habit into a morning water habit, unless my blood pressure is low, then I go ahead and make the coffee (which my occupational therapist at hand rehab thought was hysterical).

“What?” I said. “This is my first week on this medication and my blood pressure has been low when I have to take it. They don’t know what caused my a-fib, so I can’t skip the dose, but I also can’t take a beta blocker with a blood pressure of 97/56.”

Today my blood pressure was perfect so no coffee.

The neurologist’s office called and moved my appointment up a week from 4/4 to 3/30. I mentioned the report from the physical therapist should be in my chart, and that the news looked good, and that my body had adjusted to the beta blocker so my blood pressure and my blood sugar seemed to be stabilizing.

Gayle had promised me a new graphic every week I made it without a fall. Unfortunately, I was on day seven when the last fall occurred so I never earned it. But today is day eight. So I definitely made it seven days. And I display my new badge proudly.

I worked on Larry Sceurman’s short story “The Vanity Demon” for his upcoming anthology, Coffee in the Morning. I’ve reached the point in the editing schedule where I should edit one story a day to kick back to Larry for final tweaks before sending to Gayle for layout.

Speaking of stories and Larry Sceurman, Gayle, Nan and I spoke to the Apex Writers Group last night on Zoom, about 21 people attended our presentation. The participants seemed most interested in book construction, so Larry’s book, The Death of Big Butch, allowed us to show how we used text and book design to reinforce the nostalgic feel of the 1970s.

I also received my latest copy of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group newsletter, which included my first official “Podcasts for Writers” column. If you’d like to read all of it, it appears here. More of these lists will be printed and organized in my paid Substack archives.

The Teenager came home from work and we had to run some errands. Somehow, we ended up at my hand rehab appointment more than an hour early. We visited Josh Early Candies, which killed some time. But with our meager budgets we could not afford fancy chocolates.

We ended up at Grocery Outlet, but not our local store, one on the other end of the Lehigh Valley. And we hadn’t made it 20 feet into the store when I spotted Silk Very Vanilla Soy Milk in juice boxes. Now this is The Teenager’s favorite milk for drinking.

She almost bought a pop-top can of artichoke hearts to eat in the car but proclaimed that would be a new low, even by her standards. I bought myself a pack of Maple Donuts because it was time for my afternoon snack, and I seem to do better if I save a carb-y item for around 2 p.m.

The Teenager then made a noise and I wasn’t sure what was wrong and she said it was sad how happy we were wandering around a discount grocery store. I lamented that it was a shame Nan could not be with us. And I didn’t know if that would be a good time to also mention that Gayle and I had exchanged emails with a ridiculous amount of excitement about customized packing tape from Sticker Mule.

Gayle had said she had to check out the template because it was something the business should do when we had more money and I quickly said that despite the fact that we recently printed a new book, this was something we obviously needed. And then she totally outdid herself on the design, so if Sticker Mule delivers a good products, it’s going to be so amazing that you will have to order books just so you can receive a package from us. I pack a good looking parcel to start with, so this will up our game.

When I showed Gayle’s proposed design to The Teenager, the Teenager also got excited and I bet her father would, too, because he did spent most of her life to date as a shipper-receiver so our whole family has an acute appreciation and enthusiasm for packing tape.

But this is taking up way to much space– The Saga of Angel and Gayle and their Polka Dot Packing Tape.

The Teenager and I sat in the parking lot eating Maple Donuts. Maple Donuts are always delicious, but they are not maple flavored. These donuts had a sell by date of March 27 and it’s only March 21 so I knew they would be melt-in-your-mouth soft. And they had cinnamon sugar. I LOVE A GOOD CINNAMON DOUGHNUT.

I ate two cinnamon. They glided down my gullet and I couldn’t help myself from also having a plain cake doughnut. I have no self-control.

The Teenager whipped out a Silk soy milk.

“Are you going to drink that warm?” I asked.

“Room temperature,” she answered. “Do you think I ever drank these cold? How do you think they came out of my lunch box?”

,

Hearing her reminisce about having these in her lunch box reminded me of how many times I worked hard to find sales and coupons and deals to buy them for her because I knew she loved them– and other than that she only got Juicy Juice or Adam and Eve juices because I was very strict on what I fed her and Silk in juice boxes was so expensive compared to the half gallons. And sometimes I worked hard to save money on all the other groceries so I had the $10 extra to buy her favorite milk for her lunch.

And they are delicious.

The half gallons supposedly are only sold at Dollar General these days but we still haven’t found one in our area that sells them.

Once we headed to The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation, we had our cravings satisfied.

The Hand Report

When I arrived at therapy, they wrapped my hand in a moist heated pack for twenty minutes and it’s the best twenty minutes of my life. My therapist heard my tale of falling down the stairs and landing in the hospital in the hours after my previous visit, and he said I win for the most interesting story of the day.

Then, he proceeded to talk with me about things I could do at home to prevent future falls and make my life safer– because he is, at the end of the day, at occupational therapist. It was a great talk. It was an even better conversation because he gave me a hand massage during it.

My mobility has improved greatly, and even though it is still swollen, I can make a fist! I did several exercises there. My therapist mentioned that next time we will focus on strength, because he believes he can trust my previous experiences to make sure I follow through with a home rehab plan, he wants to be sure I have full hand strength so that I can fully grip the banister.

“Not that I’m picking on you,” he added.

I did four sets of exercises. First I picked up handfuls of these six-sided dice and dropped them all so that the six was facing up. Then I held the big ball in my hand and drew the alphabet in the air with only my hand and my wrist, not my arm. Then I squeezed the red ball. For the final exercise, I had two balls the size of a golf ball but a tad lighter. I rolled them across my fingers and then tried to reverse the order on the way back.

A new round of physical therapy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

A brief summary for anyone new here: I am getting closer to 48-years-old every day. I have spastic diplegia cerebral palsy which is a bunch of fancy words that mean my leg muscles don’t relax, my brain and my lower body don’t communicate well, and my hips, knees and ankles don’t work efficiently or even have a normal constitution.

I walk funny— I have an abnormal gait where my leg scissors and I toe walk. Decades of walking funny can cause wear-and-tear on the body.

But the last six weeks have thrown some new challenges at me: high blood pressure, unusual falls and now atrial fibrillation with rapid ventricular response.

The Splinter

Last night I got a massive splinter deep in my foot, in a place so deep that we couldn’t dig it out without really tearing a hole in my foot. So I asked the Teenager to slap a raisin on it and she did.

This did draw the splinter to the surface more but I haven’t removed it yet. The start of my last raisin-splinter journey happened a little more than a year ago. Read about that here. Especially if you want to hear how my splinter improved my gait and my hip pain and how the raisin and my cockatoo got the splinter out.

The Chiropractor

I visited Nicole Jensen of Back in Line Chiropractor and Wellness Center today— where she commented how loose everything was and how my body parts were all facing the right directions.

Feet facing feet directions

She got me ready for physical therapy where I’d be the youngest person in balance therapy today.

Physical therapy for balance and fall prevention

I have spent a lot of time in physical therapy — about every two years I turn up for few weeks with a physical therapist because even though a lot of it tends to be a repeat and I know what to do, it’s important to have an outside professional evaluate my status so I know I am doing the right thing for the problem.

In this case, we discovered:

  • The physical therapist approved of some of Nicole’s phrases for things— like “make my feet do feet things.”
  • My fitness coach Andrew and I are doing all the right things at Apex Training, using my sense of my body and Nicole’s insights on what my innards are doing.
  • The physical therapist is also impressed at my capacity to manage to take what could be catastrophic falls with relative ease. The Teenager says it’s because I “puddle,” relinquishing myself to the process instead of fighting it and tending up.
  • My static balance is impressive, but my dynamic balance “throws everything off,” meaning standing still I’m good, but moving or on an unstable surface, the issues can occur.
  • We will be working on exercises that open the hips and rotate the knees outward. And doing some gait work with a zero-gravity treadmill.
  • The physical therapist was also impressed with my ability to self-correct my gait, but I don’t know if he picked up on how much focus and energy that requires.

The Mid-Weekend Check In: 48 hours+ with the Zio and life at the publishing company

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Sunday morning.

I’ve been sipping strong coffee for about 90 minutes now, munching pistachios as I take my morning beta blocker. I have been trying to get my meds to 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. I don’t want to take them at the time I get up for work, because who wants to wake at 4 a.m. on a day off? The hospital gave me them at 9:30… but in the evening I’m usually asleep by then and working on a typical day. 8:30 a.m. is my morning break at work, so that would make sense from a practical point of view, but it would also mean having a snack at 8 p.m. and not getting to sleep until 9 which means the most sleep I will ever get is 7 hours. 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. sound ideal because I usually arrive at work at 6 a.m. and have a small breakfast and 6 p.m. is dinner.

But today I slept until 7.

Oops.

But when I got downstairs, my legs felt persnickety and my blood pressure was perfect if not a little low– so I went ahead and made the strong coffee. And I took my baclofen for the first time since before I went into the hospital.

One of the generalist’s at the hospital thought the baclofen might be causing some of my issues. Which makes this a test? Maybe?

But this is not a post about my Zio heart monitor or my scabs slowly crumbling down my face, though those things are fun. My gash is healing rapidly and well. I wanted to talk a bit about my weekend and what’s up with the publishing company.

Many of these thoughts will be further explored as part of the Parisian Phoenix blog and Substack newsletter. We’ve migrated from Mailchimp to Substack for better visibility and the prospect of building more paid resources and services for writers and readers. If you didn’t read this week’s recent release, check it out here.

Friday night, a journalist friend and her partner came to visit. I had planned to go visit her, but this close to my hospitalization I wasn’t sure driving on the highway by myself for an hour was a good idea. They have also been involved with cat rescue, so she’s offered some support on realigning the cat book. I’m helping her (I hope) with some of her goals and we’re both trying to help people find ways to publish their books.

My unsolicited submissions pile is growing rapidly.

Meanwhile, the dog is keeping an eye on me.

In the afternoon yesterday, I visited my “office” at Panera where our photographer Joan touched base with me regarding her activities at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group conference this coming weekend. She’s not fooling me– I know my friends are doing wellness checks.

But I had the most amazing meeting with the duo behind Echo City Capers, and we have a handshake agreement to launch some projects together which will allow Parisian Phoenix Publishing to kickstart Parisian Phoenix Kittens with a second edition of an Echo City Capers Jr. book, a children’s book from Darrell Parry (and maybe someday a puzzle book/older kid story– hint hint Darrell) and perhaps event a story in the vein of Eric Carle from Larry Sceurman.

It’s thrilling to watch a simple “let’s introduce ourselves” coffee meeting can explode into ideas and mutual support.

That little meeting went two hours and when they saw our physical books, they were pleased. They immediately saw the love and attention we give to our titles at Parisian Phoenix, and without even meeting Gayle yet, I think they “know” and trust her.

I ended my afternoon romp with a visit to Larry, to deliver some publicity materials and give him and his wife, Barbara, a copy of Thurston’s book.

When I left, I felt like my blood sugar was dropping. I found a cherry Pop Tart that the Teenager had left in my car more than a year ago and came home and made a lovely lamb dinner. (The teenager saw lamb and potatoes in the skillet and immediately claimed the leftovers.) My blood pressure was high, but it was also time to take my beta blocker.

Finally, I slithered to my bed– exhausted, when I didn’t even do much– in great anticipation to finish Katherine Ramsland’s I Scream Man and Echo City Capers YA Graphic Novel printed in Canada, Who Turned the Lights Out?

I was so tickled and delighted to read the wit, the humor and the “smarts” in this little volume, which the type is uniquely done and the paper quality gorgeous. It made me very sad to put the book down to sleep.

Zio Heart Monitor: Day 1

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Are you sick of hearing about these nuisance trials and tribulations? I am a tad tired of living them, but sometimes health problems force us to pause, reflect, organize and refocus. That’s how I prefer to look at it, and since I can’t change the circumstance, what I can do is use every moment to my advantage.

Somewhere in Thursday afternoon, I realized that I would not be at work on Friday for the release of Thurston Gill’s book, The Phulasso Devotional. I had scheduled a Facebook event for the launch and planned on recording him opening the box of books at 6 a.m. and then posting it as part of the event.

But now, I was home sick, and my employer most certainly does not want me on site while I am even more of a fall risk than I normally am. I opened the box of books at home on Facebook live and while I was recording, my Zio heart monitor arrived. (if you want to see that, click here.)

The day prior, the company had contacted me that they were having problems with my insurance company, which turned out to be because they spelled my name wrong (memories of Valentine’s Day in Mrs. Sanders’ second grade class serviced, my earliest memories of “Angel” becoming “Angle”) and they were missing a digit from my member number for my insurance company.

The Teenager assisted me in applying said device, after shaving my chest, sandpapering it, and then wiping it down with alcohol. She’s nervous it’s not quite straight and left enough, and the device itself doesn’t give you much indication how or if it is working so I guess we wait and see. I figure if the placement had to be exact, they wouldn’t let you do it at home. I would assume that most medical professionals think most people are idiots who don’t follow directions. Because really– aren’t most people idiots who don’t follow directions?

Now, my friend who had the heart attack on February 15 had a heart monitor. Not this one, but similar of course. She had a thing she had to carry with her. All I have is what is on my chest. I remember my friend saying that she didn’t know if she should hit the button or not. Because the idea is, if you feel a symptom you hit the button and log the symptom in the provided booklet or in the app. But when symptoms are things like “heart racing” or “anxiety,” it’s hard to quantify that.

Compared to how I feel right this second, my heart was racing all day yesterday. But I also know my blood pressure when I got up today was 97/56. Once I got moving, it increased to 101/67. After strong coffee, black licorice, cantaloupe, a big glass of water and my beta blocker, it ended up 110/66.

In other news, my stitches have rotated a bit and don’t poke me in the lip anymore and I think the swelling has gone down. That makes life more comfortable. I’m not doing enough hand rehab, but I’ve been using and bending the fingers in ways that mimic the exercises without sitting down and making a formal effort to do them.

I return to the gym Monday, to do what I would refer to ask a gentle workout, to get back in the swing of things and see how it goes. By Wednesday I hope to do closer to a real workout, because the heart monitor has to get a good replication of my life.

Luckily, if such a thing can be lucky, one fall happened before the gym and the later one occurred after. Based on that, it looks like exertion in the gym has nothing to do with it. Unless of course, it turns out that exertion at work is equivalent to exertion at the gym, which we won’t know unless I manage to stand at a table and fold clothes for eight hours. Who has that many clothes?

I do have to clean my closet and weed out old clothes, but I don’t want to fold all my clothes.

Not the vacation I asked for: Went to the hospital for stitches and ended up with admission for atrial fibrillation with rapid ventricular response

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

TRIGGER WARNING: This blog posts contains descriptions of a fall and medical treatment.

Listen, this one is going to be long. I spent almost a day in the hospital under observation on the general med-surg floor without my laptop or my phone charger. And the special type of not knowing in the hospital means you can’t trust them when they say you’re going home until they pull the IV out of your arm.

I’m going to use subheadings and break it up with photos. Gayle says I need to start writing a television sit-com. I would– but I’m not a screenwriter. Maybe I’ll change this into a play at some point.

The Unexpected End to the Evening of 3/13/23 (the fall)

It had been a busy day– maybe too busy: work, hand occupational therapy, a killer chest workout at the gym– but it was a good balance day. I could stand on one foot, I felt myself, and I was jovial. The only weird thing was on the 13th rep of every set of barbell bench presses, my right pinky would tingle. I even mentioned it to Andrew, and in the back of my mind, I was concerned because when my blood pressure spiked in early February, my right hand tingled.

I got home, had a lovely dinner with my daughter that included a massive bowl of brussel sprouts (which are one of my favorite things in the whole wide world) and made a cup of valerian tea to take to my room because I felt a little hyped up and it was almost bedtime.

I had the tea cup in my left hand, and my buddy straps for my sprained pinky on my right, and I was probably using the banister with my right hand. Three-quarters of the way up the steps, probably where the banister ends, I felt myself falling backwards. Just like a tree swaying in a storm (which considering the weather we’ve had recently sounds like the right metaphor). My normal falls start from my lower body. This did not.

I made a sound and started dropping f-bombs as I cascaded, according to the Teenager, sideways then straight out and dropped at a ninety degree angle onto the air conditioner. The Teenager ran to me. The air conditioner knocked the wind out of me, seriously knocked the wind out of me and now judging the bruise on my back it might have been a kidney punch from the stairs. I slowly rose and sat on the bottom step.

As I did so, I saw a frightening look on The Teenager’s face.

“I’m fine,” I assured her.

“No, Mom,” she said. “You’re not.”

Later she explained to me that blood was “pouring from my mouth” and she worried that I knocked teeth out. Honestly, from the pain in that moment, I feared I had broken my jaw (in part because in my chin-meets-sidewalk accident of spring 2010, the ER staff and the dentist marveled that I had taken enough impact to spit out teeth but had not broken my jaw).

The metal frame that holds the air conditioner in the window had sliced open my face under my lip. The tea cup had ended up between my breasts and smashed into pieces. I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. And the floor. And the wall.

My pajamas were wet. And most of me had driblets of blood here and there. The Teenager got me a rag and a bag of frozen peas and we sat on the stairs for a minute and tried to stop the bleeding. The lightheadedness, feverishness and sweating started. I handed The Teenager my phone and told her to call Sassy, because she witnessed the last fall and this felt identical. I also checked my blood pressure: 106/81.

Sassy answered despite being at a restaurant with her family. It passed and I promised to keep an eye on myself and call my doctor in the morning. But when I looked in the mirror, I knew what my daughter described as a cut was a gash and it needed stitches.

I peeled off my pajama top. Blood streamed across my chest, perhaps from the tiny pricks made by the broken ceramic but more than likely from my face. I left on my fuzzy Cat-in-the-Hat pajama pants, threw on a tiny yoga tank and a Stitch Fix t-shirt and zipper hoodie and headed out the door in dirty slip-on sneakers and no socks.

In the Emergency Room: When the doctor listens and the patient acts responsibly

My daughter took my car and drives me to the hospital literally 600 steps away. She didn’t trust me to walk. It’s literally half way between our house and her high school, but she doesn’t know how to drive there so we wiggled around the neighborhood. We wandered in, registered, and were taken right back. 8:20 p.m.

The Teenager did have time to buy refreshments from the vending machine.

Once we got into our room, we saw nurses and a doctor very quickly. Our Emergency Room physician was amazing. I explained what happened, including my description of how my falls have not been normal, and he gave me three options.

  1. He could stitch me up and send me home and I could be home by 9 p.m.
  2. He could order bloodwork, fluids and an EKG, but then I would be there an hour or two.
  3. He could go all out and order CT scans and all the things, but then I’d be there for hours.

I chose option 2. I already felt something was off, and I thought bloodwork would give us a starting point without going crazy like some sort of hypochondriac. (Speaking of hypochondriac, my current favorite podcast is Hypochondriactor with Sean Hayes and Dr. Prianka Wally.)

They even allowed me to throw out my rag and get a big old pack of gauze.

The nurse hooked me up to an IV of fluids just in case the incident was amplified by dehydration. Here is the first mistake we made, not putting on the hospital gown until after my IV was installed. So when they came in for my first EKG, I had to shimmy my shirt and tank down the IV line to the bed.

The poor technician with the EKG machine had a terrible time getting it to work and she was so close to the end of her shift and tired. The Teenager had her intrigued that she had found a half-iced tea, half-lemonade Monster in the vending machine. The technician ended up getting a second EKG machine and the doctor came in to do the stitches but decided to come back later.

That’s about when The Teenager almost sent Sobaka’s mom a text that I was in hospice, thanks to auto-correct.

And the blood pressure and heart rate go crazy

You know that look you never want to see? The one where the doctor almost gets an “oh shit” expression? Now remember– I came to the hospital for stitches. And I’ve been monitoring my blood pressure for six weeks. And maybe it had been a day or two since I checked it, because we went to Waffle House, had margaritas and ordered Dominos in the same weekend.

I was informed that my blood pressure was high and they were going to administer a beta blocker through my IV line. After it kicked in, I looked at the monitor and it said 150-something over 90-something. I’m glad they had it turned away from me before giving me the medicine.

The second EKG revealed I was in atrial fibrillation. And as my blood work started rolling in, it should my white blood count and TSH was high.

Meanwhile, I am texting my travel companion M, because he’s a medical technologist by trade and loves numbers.

They also asked when my last tetanus shot was, to which I responded, “two weeks ago.”

When the doctor came in to do my stitches, I asked if he could unhook me from the IV so I could use the restroom first. Because I don’t know about you, but I find it horribly difficult to handle pain when I need to pee.

The doctor finally had his chance to shoot up my face with lidocaine (that second shot was a bitch) and sew up my lip. We irrigated the wound by me holding a basin under my face and him pouring the solution over my face so I ended up with quite a bit of liquid and a little bit of blood on my gown and down my chest.

I got three stitches, and he did a nice job. Not that I have a whole lot of experience. I’ve only had stitches once before.

And then I got a third EKG from a new technician also about to end his shift.

That’s when the doctor said I was still in A-fib and he’d like to admit me for observation. If that was okay with me. And if the hospital administration would allow it. Which probably means if the insurance company would allow it.

Admission

At 11 p.m., I was wheeled into some narrow elevators and transferred to room 353, which had to have made M happy. All prime numbers. I was admitted to the med-surg floor and I think I might have been the youngest person in the hospital. As we rolled along, I noticed they have a whole lounge of the chair I love that the dog ate!

The nurse had some situation going on so it took us until 1:30 a.m. to finish my admission survey. I had fun with some of the questions: “Are you safe at home? Do you face any physical or verbal abuse?”

“Only from my cockatoo,” I replied.

They had to take photos of my bruises, too, and take my cardiac enzymes, blood work and vitals every few hours. And the floor seemed to be crazy until 2 a.m.– and remember, I had gotten up for work at 4 a.m. I managed to take two naps each about 45 minutes.

I thought I had turned off my work alarm, but I had not, so it went off at 4 a.m. and then the nurse started her rounds at 4:45 and my work friends started texting at 5. So I was up for the day, with no phone charger and a book by Katherine Ramsland as my entertainment. I read 150 pages.

I was delivered the most boring, high carbohydrate breakfast I have ever seen.

And the staff kept offering to bring me water, and when I said yes, they would disappear forever.

I met with the cardiologist, the occupational therapist, the physical therapist, and the hospitalist (who needs a caretaker for her beagle when she visits India for a month this summer).

By morning I was allowed to move independently, which meant I could use the bathroom without someone watching me walk. The staff quickly learned that although I have cerebral palsy, I am adequately mobile.

The cardiologist explained that we would start a beta blocker, as that is the easiest form of management, and based on the echocardiogram and the information from the heart monitor I will be soon wearing, we can determine if different or more aggressive treatment is needed.

Often, A-fib raises risk of stroke so patients often take blood thinners. My cardiologist and I agree that will my tendency to fall, those medications would do more harm than good.

Echocardiogram and therapists

The echocardiogram was fascinating. To see an ultrasound of my heart in motion was truly an amazing reminder of what a complex and marvelous machine the human body is. My mitral valve regurgitation did show up on the test, but even with that my heart function was normal. That was great to hear, because lord only knows I didn’t want to hear that the mitral valve was failing and confusing the rest of my heart. I have never had medical surgery and would like to keep it that way.

The occupational therapist I met asked me what my everyday challenges were. I answered that my biggest challenge was dealing with my socks and shoes. She showed me an extended shoe horn and a sock aid. The sock aid is basically a big piece of plastic pipe with a jump rope attached to it. You put the sock on the end of the pipe, stick your foot it and pull the tube away from the sock with the rope.

I think you probably kill the life span of your socks by stretching them out, but if it means you can put them on, that’s cool to know.

And the physical therapist okayed my gait and my walking, especially knowing that I was already scheduled to start fall prevention therapy on Monday.

I was able to order my own lunch, but even though I ordered the entree salad, I got something much blander. But compared to breakfast it was delicious.

The Teenager came around one, because the hospitalist said I would soon be discharged. The hospitalist had declared the fall was mechanical, even despite my protests it was not. She told me to follow up on that with my neurologist. And I plan to. The poor neurologist has been getting so many portal-based text messages from me.

The head nurse came in and gave me a gift blanket— that would have been nice to have the night before.

The nurse removed my IV and 2:30 and we left the hospital about 3:30. I filed my short term disability claim, made an appointment with my primary care physician and took my first set of meds. The Teenager made dinner and I was in bed, asleep by 5:30.

My bruises hurt. My lips are dry and sore but finally the cuts are healing enough that food doesn’t burn them.

I have proposed to my employer, and plan to bring paperwork to my doctor tomorrow, to leave me out of work for at least three weeks. I have six weeks of leave left. The three weeks would give me time to see if the medicine is working, finish hand rehab, participate in fall prevention, wear the heart monitor and take ALL that information to my neurologist.

Because no one wants me having another episode at the warehouse.

The cardiologist assures me that I can’t blame this on Waffle House, margaritas and Dominos, but how can we know that when the last fall down the stairs happened after Little Caesars, Taco Bell and Diet Coke. Coincidence? Do my overbooked days add to the triggers? The risk factors for A-fib include anxiety, being overweight, alcohol and caffeine. That’s my life in a nutshell.

I’m going to see Nicole today, not sure I need a chiropractor right now, but I had the appointment already and I like the idea of her checking my post-fall body.

So I think that’s everything.

It’s good to be home.

My heart monitor is on the way.

A long but wonderful Monday: last day in the doghouse at work, lunch by Sassy, hand rehab, cinnamon munchkins and a kickass workout

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I was rather indifferent to the prospect of last night being Sunday and today launching another week of folding clothes.

We kidnapped the neighbor’s dog yesterday– they are away on vacation and the dog sitter hadn’t yet fully transitioned into the role of caretaker and the dog thought he had been abandoned forever. His family is usually with him 24/7 and he didn’t understand the change in household routine. As our house is attached to his, he followed us from room to room barking. So, we texted his family, and the Teenager left a note for the dog sitter and kidnapped the dog. He started barking at 8 a.m., we kidnapped him around 10:30, and his pet sitter returned around 1 p.m. He had been in to check on him at 6 a.m., so the doggy panic was an exaggeration.

I finished proofreading Rachel Thompson’s new fiction anthology and went to bed after the time change to start a new work week and occupational therapy at The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation. So I guess I might be considered excited.

My process lead at work informed me that today was my last day in “focus” (or performance-related probation). All I needed was to hit 100% and I would be considered fully performing again. I’m still a little miffed that I was placed in such a situation to start with, as the reason I fell into this category was a lack of adherence to my accommodations.

And hitting numbers today was a challenge. In addition to my sprained finger, the mysterious issue in my hip, quad and glute that may be am injury from my fall or the item that caused my fall, the rain making other injuries hurt, my lack of medication because CVS has been out of my muscle relaxers for two weeks, I also had to advocate for myself because new support people rotated into our department and one of them didn’t know about my limitations.

Luckily, we had an awesome time at lunch because Sassy had made us chicken, rice and potato salad. If you saw my pictures from over the weekend (click here), these look very similar.

I left work at 2:15 to make the 24 minute drive to the hand rehab office for my 3 p.m. appointment. Traffic made it so I arrived at 2:50. They have a new receptionist– which explains why she couldn’t find my records, why she didn’t call me back like she said she would, and why she never sent me the link for my initial paperwork.

The therapist remembered me from my mallet finger, and informed me that the joint in the middle of the pinky finger is the most unforgiving joints on the hand when it comes to recovering from an injury. Likely, I have been taking care of mine and while it is swollen and my range of motion is limited, with heat and massage, it did respond to gentle manipulation. I had five exercises I needed to do for my mallet finger.

I have those five, and an additional five, to do 3-5 times per day (depending on the exercise), with massage.

The traffic on the highway was miserable, so I detoured for a decaf iced coffee and a tiny order of munchkins as my pre-workout. And much to my surprise, this Dunkin, the one I used to frequent when I was managing editor of The Lehigh Valley News Group, had cinnamon sugar munchkins. Had I known that… Those are my favorite and I have not had them in years.

I had a kickass upper body workout that worked a lot of my balance, and it was a good balance day, and for dinner The Teenager let me have most of the Brussel sprouts. A good day indeed.

And by my count, I did hit 100% today at work. We shall see tomorrow.

The latest round of doctors and updates

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

So, I left work for an early lunch yesterday to go visit my primary care provider. I had an appointment with one of his residents for paperwork for an update of my intermittent FMLA leave. She gave me a once over and went to bring my paperwork to my doctor, at which point he came in and gave me a little fist bump and a sad, concerned look.

“What happened?” he asked.

Concerned that I had fallen again, but also impressed that I had spiraled down 7 concrete steps with no other injuries other than a sprained pinky and some horrible bruises, he referred me to physical therapy for fall prevention. I’ll probably be the youngest person in there.

I start hand rehab on Monday at The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation, the same occupational therapy practice that handled my mallet finger last year.

I made an appointment for a consultation with the physical therapist on March 20.

But yesterday my tailbone area started hurting again and today my knee hurt and my right quad was burning. The leg felt stiff and off and it felt reminiscent of the early days of pain I had in February. And I was worried that whatever caused my recent fall– because I still don’t have any clues as to the specifics of why it happened– might be starting again.

So I left work early to go to see my beloved Nicole Jensen of Back in Line Chiropractic and Wellness Center. She said I wasn’t crooked, I wasn’t that tight or spastic, and that it sounded like my issues could just be nerve and muscle tissue still recovering from the fall. She actually said I felt better than usual, that even my feet were facing the right direction.

That was a relief. But I wanted to have her insight to get the neurologist, my primary care physician and the physical therapist coordinated. Because every clue we have is a step in the right direction.

And I have to wonder… Does my body feel painful, awkward and hard to control because it’s moving more correctly and healing and I’m not used to that?

Just a thought.