I have genetically weak knees. My mother has had surgery twice on one of her knees, and the other is in need of surgery because it has no cushioning left under the patella (due to arthritis) but mom refuses to undergo another painful and deblilitating knee surgery. My 99 year old grandmother, who just died last week, had arthritis in her knees, wrists, fingers and hips. She also had osteoporosis, but would never admit it, though her back was bowed so far she looked like a question mark from the side.
I remember listening to the crepidus in my mothers knees make a sound like the popping of rice krispies cereal in milk whenever she walked up or down the stairs in our home in Sailorville. In the last 10 years, my left knee has started to make that same noise, and it would occaisionally give out on me when I was walking down long flights of stairs when I worked at the PNA. But I've been trying, since my 20s, to be good to my knees and only do low-impact aerobics, leg-strengthening exercises and keeping my weight down, with varying degrees of success.
I've talked before about my episodes of edema and pain in my feet and ankles, and how staying away from sodium nitrate keeps me from repeat episodes of leg bloat. Over the holidays, as I was stressfully stuffing myself with sweets, I also managed to stop by 7-11 several times for the sodium-nitrate-filled hot dogs or "big bites" as they're called in the convenience store world. But this time, instead of swelled and painful ankles and feet, I got a swollen left knee. Then I attended boot camp class two weeks ago and, in the process of doing "crab tag" which was basically running on your hands and balls of your feet sideways while trying to tag everyone else in the class (after being tagged, you were required to drop and do 5 push ups), I managed to move sideway to the right while my knee went left, and pull something under my kneecap. So now my knee was doubly swollen, painful and there was limited range of motion. I thought of trying to wrap it in an ace bandage, but Janice seemed to think that the only way to actually get my knee back into shape was to keep working it without bandages. Not wanting to be considered a wimp, I concurred, and have spent the last couple of weeks favoring my left leg in class. Fortunately, this week it seems to be better, probably because I've been sucking down a lot of Aleve after class each night. I'm hoping that now that the holidays are over and my stress levels are sinking slowly, that I will be able to stop snarfing sugary breakfast cereals for snacks and that I can stay away from the call of the convenience store hot dogs! I feel like I still have four of the 9 pounds I gained over Christmas yet to lose, but I am going to the gym regularly, at least 4 times a week, and I work out hard while I am there, so I hope to start making my way back down on the scale soon. I have summer boot camp to look forward to, and while I am waiting for some warmer temps and a little sprint sunshine, one of the instructors at Work It Out has decided to revive the Sunday Spouse Spin class! WAHOO! Now if I can just persuade Jim to go to class with me, I will be all set. It has been too cold and rainy for us to take a family walk on Sundays, but this would be a great substitute for that until the weather warms up. Meanwhile, I plan on checking out that new drink that has glucosamine and condroitin in it for joint health that has been advertised on TV. I don't know if it's dairy free or not, but it looks promising.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Starting Strong in 2008
For the past 5 days, I have had Crohn's flare ups every evening, like clockwork. Some have been early in the evening, some after supper, but all have been extraordinarily painful and bloody, for some odd reason. I am unsure if I've been flaring because of stress again, or if it is because of all the holiday foods I've been eating alone and at social gatherings, where I must trust the hostess to know if the foods have dairy or eggs in them.
Yesterday was the first day of this week that Work It Out was open for classes, and, in a bit of rum luck, my Crohns started flaring with extreme colon pain right at 5:25 pm, so I was unsure whether I could get it under control in time to make it to Boot Camp class at 6:30, or whether I'd be able to 'gut out' the class at all.
So I took two Aleve and said a prayer to whatever exercise gods there are, and drove to class anyway, with the tape in my head of my father saying "Thank you for being so strong, DeAnn" over the holidays ringing in my head. He said he has a photo of my grandmother, Alta Gayle, and her mother Blanche Morrow and myself side by side on his desktop, as he likes to look at the three strongest women he's ever known. I found myself being thrilled and humbled to be in such company, as I know my great-grandmother raised 10 children by herself after her husbands untimely demise, and none of them starved or were mistreated in any way, and all were literate. My grandmother Gayle was an extraordinary woman who gave birth to 3 of her four children on her kitchen table without help from a midwife. She cut my fathers umbilical chord with a butcher knife, wrapped him up and stuck him in an improvised sling and went back to work in the corn fields. When my father had a terrible asthma attack at age two, my grandmother sat up with him for 24 hours straight, breathing for him and holding him over steam to keep his lungs open. She saved her 'pin money' from the sale of eggs, pies, sausages and other speciality meats (they had a meat locker and butchered many of their own Black Angus cattle for themselves and the surrounding Amish and Menonite farmers) to send my father to college for four years at Iowa Wesleyan. She endured an abusive husband and all manner of terrible weather and farm crisis, plus a bout of breast cancer in her forties, which she survived by 45 years. To my mind, my grandmother, great-grandmother and my mother are all vastly stronger women than I will ever be. They could all cook better than I can, too, and run a household, raise a family and still bring in money by working outside the home or selling handicrafts or food items. They did these things as a matter of course, and did not complain or whine about it.
I, on the other hand, have kvetched mightily about all the setbacks I've had, and I struggle every day to keep it all going. I can barely cook, though I can bake sweets and such. I only have one child to raise, and doing so becomes more difficult the older he becomes and the more schoolwork he bemoans. But I am determined and stubborn as a badger, so I continue to try and live up to my matriarchal heritage, and not wimp out when I am in pain.
With all that in mind I went to boot camp class hoping I'd be able to make it through half the class without having to run to the restroom. I surprised myself by making it through the whole class and focusing on completing each exercise to the best of my ability, instead of thinking about the cramping of my wretched colon. By the time I'd finished the last 20 abdominal crunches-from-hell, I actually felt better than I had at the start of class. Perhaps the endorphins that started up when I began to sweat were putting out the colonic flames, but I don't know that for certain.
However, last night I was unable to sleep through the night because the cramps and diarreha began to take their toll, and I had to take one-fourth of a Percoset to get some rest and stop the pain this morning.
At any rate, I am proud of myself for not taking the easy way out, and staying at home with a heating pad on my belly. I went to exercise class to keep my promise to myself to be strong, and get stronger every day. I don't think the ghosts of my grandmothers would have it any other way.
Yesterday was the first day of this week that Work It Out was open for classes, and, in a bit of rum luck, my Crohns started flaring with extreme colon pain right at 5:25 pm, so I was unsure whether I could get it under control in time to make it to Boot Camp class at 6:30, or whether I'd be able to 'gut out' the class at all.
So I took two Aleve and said a prayer to whatever exercise gods there are, and drove to class anyway, with the tape in my head of my father saying "Thank you for being so strong, DeAnn" over the holidays ringing in my head. He said he has a photo of my grandmother, Alta Gayle, and her mother Blanche Morrow and myself side by side on his desktop, as he likes to look at the three strongest women he's ever known. I found myself being thrilled and humbled to be in such company, as I know my great-grandmother raised 10 children by herself after her husbands untimely demise, and none of them starved or were mistreated in any way, and all were literate. My grandmother Gayle was an extraordinary woman who gave birth to 3 of her four children on her kitchen table without help from a midwife. She cut my fathers umbilical chord with a butcher knife, wrapped him up and stuck him in an improvised sling and went back to work in the corn fields. When my father had a terrible asthma attack at age two, my grandmother sat up with him for 24 hours straight, breathing for him and holding him over steam to keep his lungs open. She saved her 'pin money' from the sale of eggs, pies, sausages and other speciality meats (they had a meat locker and butchered many of their own Black Angus cattle for themselves and the surrounding Amish and Menonite farmers) to send my father to college for four years at Iowa Wesleyan. She endured an abusive husband and all manner of terrible weather and farm crisis, plus a bout of breast cancer in her forties, which she survived by 45 years. To my mind, my grandmother, great-grandmother and my mother are all vastly stronger women than I will ever be. They could all cook better than I can, too, and run a household, raise a family and still bring in money by working outside the home or selling handicrafts or food items. They did these things as a matter of course, and did not complain or whine about it.
I, on the other hand, have kvetched mightily about all the setbacks I've had, and I struggle every day to keep it all going. I can barely cook, though I can bake sweets and such. I only have one child to raise, and doing so becomes more difficult the older he becomes and the more schoolwork he bemoans. But I am determined and stubborn as a badger, so I continue to try and live up to my matriarchal heritage, and not wimp out when I am in pain.
With all that in mind I went to boot camp class hoping I'd be able to make it through half the class without having to run to the restroom. I surprised myself by making it through the whole class and focusing on completing each exercise to the best of my ability, instead of thinking about the cramping of my wretched colon. By the time I'd finished the last 20 abdominal crunches-from-hell, I actually felt better than I had at the start of class. Perhaps the endorphins that started up when I began to sweat were putting out the colonic flames, but I don't know that for certain.
However, last night I was unable to sleep through the night because the cramps and diarreha began to take their toll, and I had to take one-fourth of a Percoset to get some rest and stop the pain this morning.
At any rate, I am proud of myself for not taking the easy way out, and staying at home with a heating pad on my belly. I went to exercise class to keep my promise to myself to be strong, and get stronger every day. I don't think the ghosts of my grandmothers would have it any other way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)