About thirty-five years ago, during breakfast, my former mother-in-law said she had to run errands throughout the day, culminating with a stop at the pharmacy for some PTA items. Confused by the comment, my ex-wife asked what ‘PTA’ items she was picking up while also noting her mother wasn’t part of the local Parent Teacher Association? “Oh dear, no.” she chuckled. “I am stopping for some ‘Pits, Tits, and Ass’ products.” My ex sat in shock while I rolled in laughter. Three decades later, I found myself doing the same.
Category: Faith & Doubt
“God,” I whispered, waking in pain. “My intestines are killing me.” I attempted to dig into my stash of Tylenol #3 leftover from a dental procedure years ago. (Yeah, I know some will say they’ve expired. But I don’t believe that one day past expiration, this form of pill says to itself, “I’m expired.”) I was hoping the pain would subside. Instead, it stayed with for hours. The pain originates either in the stomach or where the transverse colon and descending colon connect. This unbearable pain in the upper left abdomen occurs almost nightly, with some nights worse than others. Intuitively, I know my colon has some serious problem (maybe Splenic Flexure Syndrome), but a cure for all my ailments is not feasible at this point in life. As such, the spasmodic cramping, gas, and bloating have become a part of my everyday living. I’ve acclimated to it. I’ve also adjusted to the notion that my body is rejecting life. It’s ironic, as thirty-plus years ago, this acclimation wasn’t always the case.
If the story is correct, my father and his mother-in-law (my mother’s grandmother) never got along. Their lives was one elongated aggravating gunfights where one side just can’t find and kill the guy. Each side had the other’s address, what car they drove, knew where they worked (in the case of my father, where he worked that week), and knew each other’s mannerism’s and quirks. As the decades flew, instead of warm conversations and reminiscent thoughts of love, the two would annually replicate the ‘Christmas Truce,’ whereupon Christmas Day, all World War I warring factions ceased, crawled out of the trenches, agreed to share a holiday meal, and returned to trenches after that. I mean, how could one resist wishing the other a Merry Christmas, even though the war will continue? They had a need for chaos. My father delivered.
Every time I meet someone in grief, I realize they are not alone in the grieving process. And when you’re grieving, you never know when you will receive an unexpected telephone call, a neighbor knocking at the door with several cups of coffee and an offer of companionship, or a sudden FaceTime call from a once-distant relative.
One day, Tom Turcich decided to walk the world. He left in April 2015, and except for returning to the U.S. for recovery, obtaining visa requirements, and sitting out the pandemic, he’s continued to hike, covering 39 countries and approximately 19,000 miles. He’s posted many Instagram messages. A December 2016 Instagram message caught my eye, and then my heart.
Eighty percent (80%) of those impacted by osteoarthritis experience pain. The most common symptom is acute pain – often deep-searing pain. For the longest time, it was hard to relate. Sure, my muscles exploded in pain, frequently from the simplest of movement. The most extreme form of osteoarthritis pain I experience comes from walking when the pain becomes so significant that the body stops whatever it is doing and says, “F*** it. We’re done. I am done until everything calms down.” I have always been grateful my body has down in the middle of a New York City crosswalk during rush hour, running from an avalanche, or just as a tsunami approaches. (Although sitting on a toilet during a Los Angeles earthquake was my biggest fear). I always presumed I experienced ‘maxed out.’ I was wrong.