The Aging of the Not So Innocents

Last week I spoke of the difficulty in watching my innocent baby, my Lab Oboe, age into a place of illness and pain.  In speaking of the Innocents, I also referenced watching the aging of the hubby in a different realm, a different light.  I return to the blogosphere today a changed person, after spending the weekend viewing the aging of my spouse with fresh eyes.  Innocent or Experienced, Naïve or Mature, Unexposed or Exposed, the aging process spares not a soul.  Today I’m certain I love the hubby as much as, or actually even more than, I love my baby (a common point of contention in our extended family).  My heart ached for him all weekend.

I’ve mentioned Tommy suffers from degenerative osteoarthritis (yes, Oboe is barking at him for “stealing his disease”) and two bulging discs in his cervical spine.  For as bad as that sounds, his neck doesn’t hurt him at all.  His one thumb is numb and cold and his arm gets tingly sometimes, but that’s the extent of symptoms from his C-spine.  His thoracic and lumbar regions tell a different story.  

First, it’s important to understand the hubby a little more.  The man is unstoppable.  He’s workhorse and a powerhouse.  He works heavy, manual labor as an electrician, HVAC tech, plumber, builder, and a man of many skills and trades, taking care of nearly 70 condo units at a local ski and golf resort.  When he isn’t beating his body up on the job, he’s either bowling, pitching in a mature men’s softball league (which means they come to drink beer and stand around gossiping, with seven innings of ball as a ruse), or he’s playing golf.  Years of serious Kung-Fu training taught him to block just about any pain that enters his body.  A few years back, the man had surgery for a double, yes double, hernia and three weeks later was back on the pitcher’s mound throwing his change-up.  Nothing stops him.

Fast forward to the present.  A week or so ago he injured his mid/lower back while on the job.  After a visit to the chiropractor and some R&R it seemed to improve.  On Friday, while helping his teenage helper move a heavy object, he reinjured his back, severely this time.  By Saturday morning he couldn’t move.  He woke me at 4:45 AM as he rose early to prepare for a fundraising golf tournament later in the morning.  He had a full day scheduled with the tourney, a stag for my friend in the early evening, and big plans with our group of friends to celebrate my birthday later at night.  At 4:46, it was apparent his back had no plans to keep with the schedule.  He could barely move.  He screamed in pain with every breath, later telling me it felt like someone was behind him with a knife plunging into his back.  It took every ounce of will to roll out of bed and onto the floor.  With my help, he managed to get dressed in his golf gear, strapped on his back brace, and then promised to only ride around in the cart that morning.  He acknowledged he wasn’t going to be able to swing a club, but he didn’t want to miss the fun with the guys.  I made him promise to have one of them drive him to the E.R. if things progressed and I would meet him.  He agreed.  We said goodbye.

Fifteen minutes later, he phoned.  He asked that I call the doctor to ask him to call in the prescription which was offered to him (and he declined) earlier in the week.  I asked how I was to get the medicine to him if he was headed to the golf course.  He said he was calling from the garage instead.  He had made it as far as the gas station and when he couldn’t get out of the car to go into the store, he realized his trip was futile and drove back home. He was stuck in the car in the garage. He was in pain.  He’s never in pain. If he is in pain, it never shows.   I didn’t know how to deal. We fought back and forth about driving into the hospital.  He won out on that one.  We didn’t go.  Muscle relaxants, cases of Advil, two Corona’s (yes, you can scold him for mixing meds and beer, I certainly did to no avail), a long bath in the Jacuzzi, and hours of laying on the floor because it was the only place he could recline without tears coming to his eyes – this is how we spent our Saturday.

I researched every possible option for what he was facing with his back problems. Through the process of elimination, we negotiated it down to muscle spasms vs. yet another blown disc. The good news is that doctors don’t prescribe major back surgery for serious muscle tears.  The bad news is that muscle issues are one hundred times more painful as disc issues (as we’ve seen with his C-spine situation).  Plus, other than muscle relaxants, NSAID’s, and chiropractic or physical therapy care, there is little to do to help ease the pain but wait for it to ease itself.  Of course an MRI might be better at truly diagnosing the problem vs. Internet-Doctor Kim, but that’s a fight for another day.

 I woke nearly a dozen times overnight to check on him, happy the medication and beer cocktail knocked him into a peaceful state of sleep in the family room.  I dreaded Sunday morning, fearful he’d be worse off than the day prior.  As we witnessed this winter as he and I entered the boxing ring over his flu battle, the hubby never asks for help, never takes medications, never-ever gives in to my needling and nagging.  He did all of the above on Saturday.  He let me take care of him.  He took pills when I told him to do so. He used heating pads and boiling hot water in the bathtub.  He asked for help and received it graciously. He did exactly as he was told, which in turn told me he realized how serious the situation was facing him.

The hubby returned to a state of innocence this weekend, reminding me again of the Circle of Life.  I realized how happy I would be to care for him well into old age (although we could really use a year or two of the “in health” vs. “in sickness” part of those vows).

As proof that I love him even more than the pup, I’ll spare him the embarrassment of posting the picture I snapped of him in the Jacuzzi here in the Sunshine for the world to see.  To help you get a visual though, imagine a six foot Italian bear of a man in a girlie Jacuzzi with lotions and potions surrounding him (he prefers bath crystals to bubbles or salts, just in case you were wondering).  With a cold washcloth on his Bruce-Willis shaved head, to keep his blood pressure from skyrocketing in the hot water, and PlayStation hooked up to the portable TV on the nearby sink – it’s a keeper for the scrapbooks.  A few friends got to share in the humiliation via text message photos of the sight.  (Hey, he could barely walk, let alone run to either stop me from hitting “send” or to catch me and punish me with tickles or arm punches). His fellow golfers, likely on the tenth hole by that point, were snickering over their beers and hot dogs as cell phones were passed around for amusement.  The friend whose stag we missed, texted a message of understanding, indicating the hubby looked like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman amidst all those bubbles.  His kids will likely keep the photo as blackmail for the future. 

Here’s a new idea for a fundraiser for NMSS – Make a huge donation to Team Sunshine and I’ll gladly send you a copy of the picture.  Just be careful you don’t throw out your own back in laughter when you see it.