The Beginning
26 years ago I was attempting cancer survivorship. I had been diagnosed with breast cancer in 1997 and received chemo, surgery, more chemo then in the spring of 1998 stem cell transplant followed by 30 radiation treatments.
Crazy it was that long ago….
During subsequent years I drifted between being certain the cancer was recurring and celebrating that it was gone. ….. it seemed that every bump, every ache and every pain was the beginning of the end. If you’re a cancer survivor you know. As the kids say IYKYK.
A few years into my survivorship and still I was consumed with anxiety with every 3 month trip to Houston……
During one of those visits I complained to my oncologist (sweet, quirky Dr. Murray who is now retired) that my hip was hurting and I was sure the cancer had spread. Finally, after listening to me obsess, he did x rays (as if the PET and MRI weren’t good enough for me) proving to me that it was osteoarthritis. What relief. What was a little arthritis right?
As the years passed we settled into normal existence at the Callahan Hacienda. I worked, Jack worked, the boys grew and I began hitting the ibuprofen for my hip pain. Just a couple here and there would do the trick. Standing all day teaching didn’t help and neither did the bus trips, but it didn’t interfere that much…. well, until it did.
About 10 years ago it started getting worse. After a long work day or a competition day, I could barely walk. I started going up stairs always using my left leg first, never putting too much pressure on my right. Whether it was the Orpheum or Astate basketball/football, the stair climbing and walking was miserable.
One night at dinner A dear friend and former Astate AD told me (after seeing me walk) that it was surely a sciatic nerve issue. Sounded right to me…. and that summer I saw a physical therapist who agreed and we set up 3 appointments a week. I only communicated with, and saw, the therapist once. Then I was turned over to an assistant. The day the assistant turned me over to the college intern was the day I called it off. The exercises and tens unit hadn’t helped one bit and had put a dent in the old Blue Cross insurance.
Another year or two of getting through the pain followed. I limped through my sons’ weddings and almost crashed during a choir trip to the Capitol at Christmas, having barely made it up to the rotunda (thank you Mallery Mitchell) and consequently making myself at home in the Dillard’s furniture department as my choir ate lunch and shopped at the mall.
It was getting really bad….
Then, wouldn’t you know, the cancer bug decided to bite me again, this time in what was left of my brain and in my non-smoking lung. Go figure, right? I have all the luck.
No time to worry about a stinkin’ hip now. Gotta focus on living.
The Freakin’ big C caused me to retire a couple of years before I was really ready then Covid hit and sent the entire world into hibernation. Yes, my hip hurt, but I was at home planning my funeral music so it really wasn’t a big deal.
Then I lived.
And it was finally time to revisit the hip. Friends assured me Chiropractic care was the answer (don’t be offended if it worked for you, ok?). So I jumped in, signed the contract and paid thousands, yes thousands, of dollars for this miraculous cure. Again with the tens thing and the medieval stretch machine.
Didn’t work. AT ALL.
I was, and am, celebrating every cancer free day. But the old hip is finished. Bone on bone they tell me. I finally wrapped my head around the need for surgery and that it was ok to have it cancer or no. My sweet young new oncologist in Houston approved and thought it was exactly what was needed. However…..
Remember when I mentioned retirement and COVID? Well, like most of America, I managed to cook and eat my way into ….well into a mess……And it was getting more and more difficult to do anything!
Case in fact…..This summer I gathered up enough nerve to attend two beautiful weddings, both of which required a bottle of hydrocodone pain pills just to walk. If you had seen me trying to navigate the lovely outdoor venue of one, or the three story vrbo of the other, you would understand. And this past week I had to bear crawl up the stands to watch my son coach (my favorite thing in the world to do).….. I don’t even go to my beloved church (also known as Our Lady of the many steps)…. and I barely manage to park at the door of the hair/nail salon and walk the few steps it takes for Cathy and Nita to keep me going. Jack has to drop me at the front door anywhere we go. I’m officially OVER IT and I know Jack and my family and friends are as well!!!
HIP HIP HOORAY. We hope.
It’s TIME FOR GRANDMA TO GET A NEW HIP, DANG IT ALL.
The good orthopedic doc I’m seeing in Little Rock wants to do anterior surgery which is less invasive BUT I have to lose major weight. So here we are. I’ve lost 50 lbs…….without Ozempic, ha…..but the stinker wants more so I’m trying to comply. My surgery is finally scheduled for October 16 and my fingers are crossed.
I have no way of knowing if my cancer will return. I’m still receiving the immunotherapy drug Keytruda and am cautiously optimistic. I’m also cautiously optimistic that I won’t be hit by a truck but who knows, right? Anything could happen to any of us…. and those of us 64 almost 65 year old people understand this better than most, ha.
So…. to all of you hipsters out there. I FEEL YOUR PAIN and I’m ready to rejoin the ambulatory crowd.
So HIP, HIP Hooray….for real
Walking Home 