Surgery last week gave me hope that I will regain my ability to walk, hike and yes, DANCE.
I am a week and a half post surgery and not the most patient patient. Thursday I go to see the doctor. I am curious what’s under the bandage and what the x-ray will show.
For the moment it’s pain management and rest. Lisa takes good care of me and friends are trickling by. It’s good to have goals and mine is to DANCE.
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For the most part, we try to avoid the “what ifs?” There’s no point in arguing, stressing or even planning for things that may not ever happen. That is, except for the inevitable aging and the Big-D.
With more of our lives behind us than in front, it pays to have a plan for aging and death. More than likely, being the elder of the two, I will die first, but one never knows.
We have wills, both Mexican and US. All beneficiaries are named. We’ve had THAT conversation with the kids. I’ve set up a central file of passwords and financial accounts.
This week we’ve been looking at what we thought was a possible long term living location. We’re exploring Queretaro, Mexico, known for its temperate climate, cultural activities, adult living facilities and central location.
Unfortunately this beautiful, colonial, sprawling city did not resonated with these jungle girls. Time for Plan B, whatever that is.
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When the hip “expert” from Austin suggested I return to my original surgeon in Mexico to have the hardware removed from my leg, a voice in my head knew it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
It’s one of those times that I didn’t want to be right. I knew that my surgeon was on the conservative side. I guess at 74 (me not him) that’s not a bad thing.
September will be the two year anniversary of my accident. Doc wants to wait until then and reassess. My disappointment must have showed because he agreed to do it immediately if I wanted. No, I’ll wait.
So that’s where we stand, putting off the removal of the plate and screws in my leg until September. I guess I can wait four and a half months. Better safe than….
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After reading both CT and MRI scans, an orthopedic surgeon that we know and respect, announced “hip replacement.” He said it was my only option. My accident in September 2024 really did a number on me.
While most medical procedures are less expensive in Mexico than in the US; the price he quoted made my head swim. Apparently the reconstruction hardware is quite pricey.
After speaking to a number of people who have had hip replacement (including my brother), and doing my internet research, I became hopeful that there might be a solution to my chronic pain.
I made an appointment with a hip specialist in Austin and traveled to the US where I have insurance. I did NOT expect the outcome that I got.
Dr. Heinrich asked me to walk. As I hobbled and winced around his office, he said, “point to the pain.” My hand went immediately to the five inch (12cm) scar on the outside of my left leg. Without hesitation he announced, “you don’t need hip replacement, just take out the hardware.”
What? How? My head spun.
He advised that I return to the original surgeon to have the screws and plate removed. “It’s completely healed. I expect you’ll have 75% of capacity return to your leg.”
I am not sure why neither orthopedic surgeon in Mexico suggested that option. I have an appointment on Tuesday to see what’s what and hopefully schedule part dos. The adventure continues.
Stay tuned.
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They say that a life without regrets is a life well lived. I’m not so sure about that. Looking back on my seventy-four years, there are a few things I wish I had done differently.
When I was getting my Master’s degree at the University of Texas in 1996, my professor suggested that I continue for a PhD. She liked my research and thought I could parlay it into a dissertation. Without question I said no. I was too scared. It was a bigger vision than I could imagine for myself. I was raised in a time when women were given very low expectations.
Another time I was offered the position of manager for the clinic where I worked. Again, I turned it down. I had never been a “manager” (only of a home, and three kids, all while attending graduate school full-time.) I wish someone had offered me help, training and a boost to my self confidence.
As a woman of a certain era, I fought hard for every opportunity. I was the only girl of five children, and the only one to graduate from college, bought and paid for by myself.
It was impossible not to let the fear rule me. Fear was built into every story I was told, every underestimation, every time I was reminded that my place was in the home.
So yes I have a few regrets.
Today I am content with the way things turned out. I have an amazing partner, a beautiful home and a peaceful existence. If I had done any of the things I now regret, it might have turned out quite differently.
So truthfully I have no regrets. At least that’s what I tell myself.
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1CiLn7YdNg/
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“Reduce swelling, eliminate wrinkles, lift sagging lids, here let me show you how.”
I was winding my way through Cancún airport when this gorgeous woman came on strong (it’s been years since I’ve been able to say that!)
Before I could bat a puffy lid, she was dabbing something under one eye and pushing a mirror at me to demonstrate the “miraculous” difference.
Of course I couldn’t see a thing and not because it didn’t work, although I have my doubts but because I’m blind without my glasses.
With flawless skin and perfect English she thrust a sample in my hand and continued her siren’s song, inviting me to her counter to experience an age defying miracle. My response,
“I don’t care!”
She looked confused. “But don’t you want to…look younger?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
She sputtered as I walked away. Actually I wheeled away, as my walking days are currently on hiatus.
I think I retired with the money I have NOT spent on beauty supplies. For giggles I looked up her products. They started at $400 and added a one on the front for moisture and glow.
For me, making peace with aging starts in the mirror. The sagging skin and thickening middle defy all effort to change. And believe me I’ve tried. At this point it’s appearance zero, health everything. So I’ll keep my wrinkles and my money, thank you very much! “I DON’T CARE.
Watch this video.
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1BPcaHjSwJ/
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Long before grandmothers ran marathons, Nan would show up at our house in New Jersey, unannounced. We knew she arrived when her car pulled into our long country drive. “Nan’s here!” We were excited. It was a time before internet and cell phones. As the matriarch I guess she never felt the need to let us know she was coming. Sometimes she stayed for months.
Nan drove well into her eighties and would tell us often that the worse day of her life was when my uncle took her car keys. She was a traveling fool, visiting here and there while waving to the truck drivers. She carried all her worldly possessions in her trunk (boot for you Brits).
One day Nan arrived and announced her intention to drive from New Jersey to Florida to visit family. She whisked me away to keep her company on the long drive to Miami. I was a lanky twelve year old. My parents never thought to tell her no.
I was mesmerized at Weeki Wachee State Park where to this day mermaids breathe underwater through skinny tubes and perform somersaults with long hair floating behind them.
We also took a boat ride along the Florida coast to stare agog at enormous seaside mansions that defied reality. Our reality for sure.
My grandmother was born in 1896. She was labeled rebellious when to everyone’s horror she divorced my grandfather. My mother told stories of packing up her three siblings and moving in the middle of the night when they couldn’t pay the rent. Nan later lived with a man for ten years whom she never married. I remember him. She was an independent woman who unapologetically forged her own way.
Her name was Alicia Wade Marder. It is important that we tell womens’ stories. She was my grandmother and she shaped my life in ways I’m still discovering. This is for my grandchildren, so they know their herstory. Love you Nan.
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Nobody wants to read about old women doing amazing things but you should, if you’re lucky it could be you.
My conservative, republican mother-in-law moved to Mexico to live with her ex-military lesbian daughter and her older wife. It’s been one hellava ride.
Alice is now eighty-two and living large in her own tiny jungle home.
https://theadventuresofdostortas.com/2016/03/13/a-tiny-house-in-mexico/
Her house is a museum. She’s never seen a knickknack, or doll, or pair of shoes, or jewelry…that she doesn’t love. When her clothes washer recently died, her main concern for a new one was that it had to be pretty. She now owns a red washing machine.
Alice survived Covid and RSV (a respiratory virus) both of which put her in the hospital. She has more lives than a cat. She sets an amazing example of resiliency and living life on your own terms and we’re so lucky to have her with us.
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There was a time when I was fearless, hitchhiking across Mexico in my 20’s, climbing pyramids, swimming underwater into a cave, or staying out all night dancing.
Maybe it’s because I am now old (this week marks 74 years) and disabled (walking with a cane) that I find myself anxious about the unknown. Whether the world has become a scarier place or I am having trouble with my limitations, I don’t know. Either way, I am ashamed and embarrassed of my fear.
We have tickets on Tuesday to see the one and only Shakira. It’s my birthday and what a way to celebrate, right? We have someone staying with my mother-in-law and a sweet hotel reservation in Merida. And yet I am ready to cancel it all over an unfamiliar concert venue, fear of not finding a taxi, long bathroom lines and staying out most of the night.
I have read that writing is cathartic so here I am baring my soul. I know you won’t try to fix me. You might think I’m a little bonkers, but heck I think I’m a LOT bonkers.
Thanks for listening, or reading, or whatever it is we do here. I appreciate your support. Writing it down beats lying in bed with tears in my ears (as my dad used to say) any day.
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Released in 1952, the year I was born.
I’ve Got Tears in My Ears https://share.google/hMd6hIh5FY4NDWR9M
If we do not see someone or talk to them in thirty years can we still consider them a good friend? Are comments and posts on Facebook enough? Somehow I imagined running into him in a coffee shop and picking up the conversation where we left off. Memories, shared history and familiarity would bring us up to date. Where did the time go?
This week I lost that opportunity. Gareth found out two months ago that he had gallbladder cancer. It’s one of those nasty cancers that by the time you find out, it’s too late. It hit me like a punch in the stomach. I can’t imagine what it did to his wife and son.
I went to Gareth and Wendy’s wedding in 1983. My son was days old when I wrapped us both in a blanket and ventured out. It was April and one of those Texas spring days with the sun out and a blustery wind. It was a beautiful outdoor wedding in the Texas Hill Country
I called a mutual friend this week to make sure she knew of his passing. She reminisced of a road trip they took, camping along the way. “I had such a crush on him.” I think we all did.
Another friend wrote on his FB page, “If I was told that as of yesterday there were no more mountains on earth, I think it would feel the way I feel hearing there is no more Gareth. It’s simply impossible. I love that guy. ❤️.” What a lovely sentiment.
His page is filling up with stories, sadness, and shock. He was such a dear person.
One more reason to be grateful for another day on this spinning rock. Farewell and adiós Gareth. To have been so loved is a life well lived. And we did not expect it.
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Jack Scott, author of Perking the Pansies and Turkey Street
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