The Buddha in Me

I keep wondering if I made a mistake that I did not go through with the hip replacement surgery this Autumn. 

I deliberately put off my hip replacement surgery this Autumn to live up the latest experiences.  My book is on the way to hard copy publication.  I had two public speaking engagements in Pittsburgh and then upstate New York in Albany in September and early this November (respectively).  My imported buddies from Spain and Argentina visited me.  My relatives from Hong Kong making the trek to celebrate my cousin's wedding.  My built-out and big girl shoes were made, and I am still adjusting to them.   I am slowly forming a bond with my long-lost half-sister and even longer-lost biological mother.  I had massively meaningful gatherings with my buddies at the bowling alley and my parents over at my place bimonthly with my prepared wonton soup or roasted butternut squash for them prior to lounging on my couch to watch borrowed movies from the library.  I savored and treasured every moment with a family member or friend with laughter and a sentimental smile. 

Surely, Autumn was not the right time for my surgery when all these beautiful and amazing experiences had popped up in my life.  Surely, I could get through winter with my feisty and fun-loving spirit.  Surely, putting my trust in "timing"/"time" and my body was the ultimate right decision. 

Surely is actually unure right now.

Because, these are the harsh reality checks that are here and now:

I can't walk up more than a flight of stairs anymore; The elevator is now my best friend.  I can no longer stand for more than five minutes straight without sitting; Chairs are my solace.  I can only walk about 15-20 minutes at most; Rest is a necessity.  Every single day and just about twice a day, I have to put on external analgesics to numb the twisting pain; Thank heavens for peppermint and menthol-infused Icy Hot and Bengay.   Swimming has been upped to stretching intently in the warm water pool; I worship water. I have to see my osteopath at least every other week as this brutal month of Mother Nature showed my joints in reverbrating and sharp aches and pains with her power outage, flooding, and howling wind fury.

These reality checks are making me ponder sadly about the past. 

I keep thinking of then.  THEN must be at least two years ago.  I bounded up three flights of stairs and didn't think twice about the elevator.  I walked at least two or three rounds around my apartment complex, waving to newbie neighbors.  I did not need any kind of smelly cream or ointment that made my co-workers wrinkle their noses and ask: "What is that smell?"  I could go a month without seeing my osteopath. 

These reality checks make me into a warped and emotional monster when I look at the surfaced people around my age that surround me.  I seethe with putrid and green envy when my co-workers are able to bound up the stairs or walk many rounds around our lush work campus that overlooks the beauty of the Hudson River.  A combined guilt and gratefulness fills me when the kindness of my friends and family say: "Let me walk alongside you...let me know if I'm walking too fast," or "Do we need to take a taxi?"  Bitterness tightens its grip around me in a strangling hold with questions of: "Why Me?" and craving to erupt with an almost volcanic anger towards physically healthy people around my age: "Do you know what it is like to live with chronic pain?  Do you know how pain kidnaps and imprisons you to the point of exhaustion and fatigue?  Do you know how it monumentally sucks that I can't pop in any pill like Aleve or Motrin to alleviate the pain due to maintaining my kidney function?  I have no choice but to deal with this chronic pain." 

Most of the time, I am able to completely bypass the bitter, envious, and angry traits of this monster that lurks and happens to emerge when the chronic pain absolutely debilitates my body and spirit.  Well, this monster has emerged in the last couple of days after my body writhed in pain.  It is only on the very brink of my pity party that I fight to find the Buddha in me. 

The key concepts of Buddhism is letting go and detachment-- two concepts that I have struggled with nearly my entire life, but let me confess that it is when I fall into my "human nature" of remembering the past in remorse and face the harsh and true realities of the present pain in my life that I glimpse the Buddha in me.  Oh, the dearly jovial Buddha with the protruding fat belly and joyful round face.  I've been told that I resemble a kind of Buddha, so why not live out the qualities of the Buddha that I physically appear to be?  I close my eyes and I can almost imagine inhaling incense, sitting cross-legged as I bask in quiet and calm meditation at the Buddhist temple, and eating leafy greens to finish off the Buddha fest. 

The Buddha in me fully knows that it is human nature to remember the past and wish it could stay the same, yet knowing that nothing and no one ever stays the same because we have to face truth in order to fulfill and live out growth. 

The Buddha in me knows I cannot keep tormenting myself if I made a mistake with not going through with my hip replacement surgery this Autumn, nor can I torment and begrudge the good health and happiness of others that are around my age with my self-inflicted bitterness and anger.  

The Buddha in me is more than aware that anger and bitterness drains a person out even more than the chronic pain, and it is only through calmness, prescence, acceptance, patience, and understanding that all of this happens for the reason to make you stronger and to make a difference to others who have it worse to learn from them or others who have it better for you to show them how lucky they are. 

The Buddha in me knows that timing is just about everything in life.  There is a time for certain experiences to occur and live in, people to come into your life, and people to leave your life.  I was blessed with two new people who came into my life who brought me new perspectives that I keep with me as the greatest and most treasured gifts. It is questionable if these people or if all people that are presently in our lives will stay forever, but I believe at the core of me that time with all people is never wasted-- even if that person were to leave or drift away.  The Autumn timing of these present-day and harsh reality checks probe me that my surgery is a necessity in the Spring 2013.  

But, probably the greatest aspects of the Buddha in me could fulfill and not just know is that everything is a matter of perception to to truly let go to then move forward in life.   Fulfillment of these aspects have yet to occur because the Buddha in me is a true work in progress, but the greatest truth is that we are all just imperfect human beings that are rough drafts working towards our very own, yet  just about non-existent masterpiece 

Here is to the rough draft Buddha in me that forges forward to whatever my life should bring! :-)

Keep smilin' until we meet again,

Mary :-)

The Wu Move & Groove Movement

The Wu Move & Groove Movement has commenced. 

My brand and spanking new and polished left Clark's shoe has been given a masterpiece makeover by my beloved and newly found Shoe Repair Man Tony.  He was Prince Charming when he presented the left shoe with its curved height by a removable lift.  I was the swooning and starlet Cinderella when I slipped my left foot into the shoe for the first time.  I grew at least an inch right then and there.  Not even that familiar jolt of pain in my left hip or lower back could stop me from feeling this moment of height and normalcy.  I closed my eyes and saw myself with long, steady, and pain-free strides in these Clark's shoes meant for work and Puma shoes meant for fun.  The internal cheerleader in me that is high on life whipped out its gold and red pom poms with the mantra: Adjustment, Patience, Perseverance.  I grinned with the images that ran through my mind.  I was giddy with the Wu Move & Groove Movement beginning. 

But, there was a catch.  Tony had went from my Shoe Repair Man Prince Charming to my Wizardy Godfather when he explained: "Mary, the only one who can remove lift.  You come to me when you need."

My crestfallen facial expression said it all.  All this time, I thought that I was the power and controller that could remove the lift whenever I need to in order to make adjustment to the heightened shoe happen.  I could feel complaints and protestations tickling on my tongue, but I stopped.  I had nothing to complain about.  I could not spend my days and efforts complaining when I had work that I had to do, which was truly adjusting to my modified new shoes.  

And, let me tell you, it really WAS work.  Correction.  It really IS work.  But, who said that this Wu Move & Groove movement was ever going to be easy?  I continue to spend my evenings outside of work walking in the comfort of Mother Nature in my Puma shoes to try to train my body to like this new height that will more or less be the height after my impending hip replacement surgery.  The sunshine bathes me in warmth and confidence that every painful jolt only means that adjustment is happening.  I am often thankful for pain that is my reminder of the balancing act I live with every day to "move and groove without overdo."  I've now been walking in increments up to thirty minutes in my Clarks and Pumas, and though the tension of adjustment is still there, it is lessening day by day and step by step. 

Another vital part of the Wu Move & Groove Movement has been implemented, and that is I officially have a general practitioner doctor.  I've been seeing my new nephrologist (kidney doctor) for at least a year.  In this last year, the number of health episodes of viral illnesses (aka: colds) and allergies most fortunately unrelated to my kidneys increased.  I continued to go to my nephrologist who agreed to see me out of sympathy and a liking for me, but then always ended our visits with: "You know, Mary, you need to find a general physician.  I'm just mainly seeing you for your kidney maintenance and care."

With the surgery in the horizon that requires medical clearance from my nephrologist and general physician, I took the plunge last week to meet with a possible general practitioner.  She is a relatively new physician who started her practice about a year ago.  I chose her because of her background in nephrology.  With shoulder-length dark hair and eyes and her careful attention and genuine appreciation to my heavy black binder containing all my health documents of medications, surgical procedures, emergency room visitations, doctor office notes, and more, I immediately liked her.  It was a full-blown physical examination and every lab test known to man was drawn along with an EKG.  She promised that she would call me to let me know the results, and her keeping her word with a phone call from her and NOT her nurse practitioner, nurse, or secretary solidified me deciding to stick to her at my general physician.

With the shoes and physician implemented, I was able to focus on a new adventure: Meeting my penpal from Spain for the first time AND letting her stay with me for a week.  This was the first time I played host to someone for an entire week.  I've had my adventures of meeting and staying with penpals and even penpals staying with me, but it was when I still lived at home with my parents.  Nervous, excited, and anxious were just a few emotional adjectives that wafted in me, but there was a blanket of calmness on top of all those emotions from the knowledge that her and I had known each other since 2005 and had a connection from the words and stories shared in letters that we exchanged. 

It was a whirlwind week for me when my penfriend from Spain arrived.  I was trying to recover from a strange allergic cold of constant coughing whilst playing chef and tour guide.  My meals were ABC (American-Born Chinese) and Internationale Americana, including sauteed chopped up eggplant, ground turkey, and tofu with Korean purple whole-grain rice and Trader Joe's vegetarian pizza and a ready-made Dole Caeser salad.   My tour guide consisted of driving up to Orange County to browse at the odds and ends of eclectic stores to apple picking and shopping at farmer markets. 

For an entire week, I went without my swimming.  I held my breath in dreaded anticipation for the muscle spasm that would attack or flare up that would occur at any given moment.  However, I was shocked at only the typical and usual arthritis aches and pains that crept in the mornings, causing me to be a knotted pretzel and nights and left me as stiff and unmoved as a stone unturned.  My response to these usual pins and needles pain sensations was to ignore and enjoy every moment I had with my foreign friend that I had the great fortune to bond with face-to-face on our American escapades or when we just sat quietly as we played with paper with our Origami skills and watched re-runs of my favorite TV show "Monk." 

At some point over sipping from straws that were lost in a super-sized rootbeer float or walking up and down the sidewalks with squirrels munching on acorns and the red, white, and blue American flag swaying in front of large Victorian-style American homes, my penfriend shared in her lilting accent: "I would never guess that you were sick.  You stay so active and energetic.  It is so good." 

Her words echoed in my head.  My body seemed to take her words even more seriously because it reacted with the sharp aches and pains that were all too familiar of an onset of a muscle spasm.  My mental and emotional reaction was crankiness and cravings for chlorine, swim caps, goggles, and the ultimate comfort and sort of solace and remedy to my body: The Swimming Pool. After dropping off my friend and bidding farewell until we would meet again in her home city Barcelona, I practically road raged to the gym to get my swimming in.  The scent of salted chlorine and the feel of water on the tips of my toes to the rest of body immediately soothed me.  My cravings were fulfilled.  I stretched, stroked, swam, and streamlined as though I had not even seen a swimming pool in a month. 

My body relaxed and tension was lifted. My body was home in the water.  This is when it sunk in for me that my greatest #1 Weapon against arthritis in my movement aside from the shoe lifting and doctor finding is literally moving and grooving while still carefully considering my body.  Every stroke I take in the swimming pool or every step I take when I walk in my new shoes, I am fighting against arthritis AND preparing for the surgery that lies ahead in the future.  I am the juggler and balancer of my own life of always staying active and busy and achieving that fine line of never overdoing to the point that I may hurt myself.  There is a constant middleground that I strive to stay at, and I am trying to overcome the extremist that I tend to be at the very core of me. 

People often tell me to take it easy and relax.  I will take it easy and rest in peace when I am dead, and so for now and in the moment, I am living and enjoying my life with the people I love most and making my Wu Move & Groove Movement happen while I am alive.  May the movement forge forward with every positive force ion in me! 

Keep smilin' until we meet again,

Mary :-)

The Cinderella Shoe Complex

I am going through a Cinderella Shoe Complex.  Except, it is not some handsome and debonair Prince who is trying to find me with the other glass slipper to my glass slipper.  Rather, it is me that is hunting and searching desperately for the correct shoe repair person to build correctly and with the right material outside of my left shoe or shoes to then level off my crumbling left hip and truly prepare for my hip replacement surgery. 

I am currently using a 13mm heel lift in all my left shoes.  The heel lift goes in the left shoe and slapped on top is my orthotic.  In my right shoe, the orthotic is slipped in.  I am fully aware that my left hip is crumbling faster than I could ever predict because the bottoms of my right shoes are forming holes due to my heavy compensation with my right leg.  Pebbles are getting stuck in the holes so when I walk in my unbalanced gaint, I start to make sound effects like a human rattle.   

When my osteopath gave me the prescription that indicated to build 17mm outside the left shoe, my first concern was finding the right shoe repair shop and especially person to do the job correctly. 

The first shoe repair shop I went to was in Pleasantville.  I could not help but grip even tighter on to the thin, yellow Shoprite bag that contained my beloved black Puma sneakers when I eyed warily at the small and dingy shoe repair shop in Pleasantville right before me.  Once I walked into that shoe repair shop and told him that my osteopathic doctor had ordered 17mm built on the outside the bottom of my left shoe, the journey to facing off with my hip replacement surgery full throttle would officially begin. 

I opened the plastic bag to reveal my precious Puma sneakers that had been with me and provided me stylish cuteness since I was a teenager.  I could not imagine the mutilation that this left Puma sneaker was about to endure.  I was beginning to doubt if I was right to choose these Puma Sneakers to be the very first pair to endure the identical appearance being ripped away from them. 

I sighed, and tied the plastic bag into a loop with determination.  It was now or never.  No looking back.  No regrets.  My osteopath had recommended this shoe repair man, and so I had full faith that I had to go through with this decision of building outside of my shoes to then prepare for my hip replacement surgery.  I finally marched into the store, but had the immediate urge to sneeze at the old and tethered leather bags that hung haphazardly on hooks and misshapen and old shoes scattered on outdated stands.  Lined at the front desk area were Christ-loving or Bible-banging pamphlets.  The store looked like it was locked in the early 1990's or even the late 1980's. 

I tentatively walked to the front area where a jovial and round-faced Asian woman nodded for me to speak. 

"I have a prescription from one of my doctors to add 17mm to this left shoe.  Are you able to do this?"  I reached into the plastic bag to reveal the left Puma sneaker that shone in the dim lighting. 

In halting English, she said: "Hold please."

She scurried to the back of the store, and out came a thin and ganley Asian man with a weathered and tanned face just like the leather bags in the store.  She said, "You tell him what you need." 

I explained again.  He gently took the left shoe, eyed it, and just nodded with a grunt: "Yes, I can do."

"What material will you use?  How much will this cost?"  I asked.

"I show you."  He went to the back of the store again and showed me a rubber sole kind of material.  My fingertips brushed against the material. 

"30 dollars," he said with finality.

That was not as expensive as I thought it would be, but I asked him anyway: "What is your background?"

 

Both the round-faced Asian woman and this weather-faced Asian man stared at me with round eyes.  The woman finally said: "Korean." 

I broke into a smile.  "Well, you know, I am Chinese.  We are both Asian.  We have something in common.   Perhaps you can giveme a discount?"

The man shook his head and grunted again, "30, and that is it."

Oh, well, I had tried.  I said: "Okay."

"Come pick up in just a couple of days," he said. 

I nodded.

Almost a week went by when I returned along with a friend of mine who was intrigued when she learned that I was indeed going forward with building material outside of the shoe to prepare for the hip replacement surgery.  I explained to her what my osteopath explained to me that my feet leveled off as equal as possible with the shoes would help prep my body for when I finally did undergo a hip replacement surgery to lessen the rehab intensity and time. 

My friend asked me: "So, can any shoe repair place do this kind of building outside of the shoe?"

"I think so."

"Why don't you go to Tony's Shoe Repair in Ossining?"

"I never heard of them," I confessed.

"Oh, they are awesome.  Tony can work magic with any kind of shoe, and he and his wife are this cute and worldly couple from Italy that play this opera music all day long." 

"Hmmm...I'll look more into it," I said. 

My friend and I approached the front desk again in this tiny shoe repair shop.  The Asian man recognized me as soon as he saw me.  He even gave me a small and awkward smile, but his smile widened when he saw my reaction to the precious left Puma sneaker.

I could not believe it.  He did an amazing job.  Looking at it from a distance, no one would ever guess that the left Puma sneaker was lifted outside because the material he used looked just as similar to the original Puma sneaker material.  I was pleasantly surprised and ready to fork over my $30 in that instant, but I first had to try them on.  I immediately stuffed my orthotics in the shoes without my original 13mm lift to test out wearing both Puma sneakers.  Almost automatically, I felt the jolt of my left hip being raised and pain radiating from the hip to the left lower side of my back. 

I cringed in pain. 

My friend asked worriedly: "Are you okay?  Are they comfortable?"

I was the impressed Cinderella to have lucked out with this first fine shoe repairman.  His workmanship was stellar and outstanding, but the reality of trying to truly embark on this journey of my body adjusting to these lifted left shoes was almost more than I could take both emotionally and physically. 

I blurted out: "It just feels so different!  I can't believe it!"

"Well, it is going to take you awhile to get adjusted to the height difference, but your body will get adjusted to it like I'm sure your body got adjusted to those heel lifts."

I nodded, and tried to walk in the shoes all over again.  The shooting pains in my left hip and lower back rewound my brain to the time when I had first tried to adjust to the heel lifts and then to the many muscle spasms that had attacked at any given moment.  Adjustment, patience, and perseverence were happening all over again.  Everything was going to be okay.  At least I had found my shoe repair man.  I happily gave him my $30. 

In the next days that followed, my osteopath and I finally talked about a game plan to adjust to these new and supposedly improved black Puma Sneakers that were my starting point of preparing for my hip replacement surgery.  She said: "Walk around in the Puma sneakers for a few minutes at a time with the orthotics and up to a hour.  Then, return to your old shoes with the left heel lift and orthotics.  Alternate.  If you need me to write a doctor's note for your workplace, let me know."

"I'll first start outside of work," I said.

And, so I did just that.  I often walk around my complex for a good ten minutes.  Stuffing my fat and flat pancake feet into my brand new black Puma Sneakers, I walked.  And, I walked.  And, pain traveled and moved along to my clumsy movements in these sneakers.  Exhausted after a ten minute walk, I took the Puma sneakers off and rubbed my feet.  Pain lingered, and I sighed.  Tomorrow was another day.  I would try again tomorrow. 

I tried the next day.  I tried the day after that.  The pain stayed and the routine of rubbing feet ensued.  Although I was incredibly grateful to this first repair man who had fulfilled my Cinderella shoe complex, there had to be another way.  If only I could have a  lift built outside and at the bottom of the shoe that could be removed instead of permanently plastered on.  If there was a removable lift outside of the shoe then I could take it off and put it on as needed to get my body adjusted.

My answer came in the form of a middle-aged woman my sister had met and introduced me to who already had a double hip replacement within less than a year a part from one another.  We met for lunch.  She walked with such ease and comfort that you would have never guessed that she had one and even two hip replacement surgeries.  I envied her freedom from pain, and wondered if I would also be that way one day.  Someday. 

Her clear blue eyes widened when she shared: "I was in pain all the time.  I could not even walk.  I had to have the hip replacement surgeries.  My last resort before the surgeries was lifting or building outside of both of my shoes."

My ears perked up.  My Cinderella Shoe Complex had kicked in about finding just the right shoe repair man.  "Who did you go to to build outside of the shoes?"

"Tony's Repair Shop in Ossining."

Bells of excitement rang off in my head.  My friend had also mentioned Tony's Repair Shop in Ossining.  "Really?  A friend of mine recommended him, too."

"Oh, he is the best, Mary!!  He does these removable shoe lifts!"

My eyes bugged out with excitement.  "Oh, my God!  That is exactly what I am looking for!!"

"You definitely have to call him up.  He will let you know if he can or cannot work on the shoe and, when he does work on the shoe...well, you won't regret it.  He is a shoe genius!"

That night, I dived through my shoe collection.  I knew the next pair of shoes that I wanted worked on were work shoes.  Then, finally, I saw the old and inexpensive pair of Payless work shoes that were destined to be worked on next by this Tony fellow just up the road from me.  I placed them in a plastic bag and impatiently awaited for the next day to arrive so I could meet Tony and encounter this magical removable shoe lift option.  When I called Tony for directions to his repair store, he said in a heavy Italian accent over and over: "Right before 7 Eleven.  Store is right before 7 Eleven.  Maria, my wife, and I are before 7 Eleven." 

As soon as I saw the 7 Eleven, I parked there and then followed the numbers going down to track down Tony's Repair Shop.  Unlike the unease and uncertainty I felt with the leathered and weathered materials at the first shoe repair shop in Pleasantville, a big grin took over my face at the endless shoes tucked in cubby hole homes and materials and machinary all dedicated to shoes in Tony's Repair Shop.  Opera music boomed from the speakers.  I was sold.  I had found my Prince Charming Shoe Repair Man.  I blushed with thrill when I started to speak with this petite and yet pleasantly plump lady with soft tufts of white and gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and warm blue eyes about my friends recommending Tony to me.  Maria was this sweet woman's name.

She nodded and smiled gently, but then said loudly: "Tony, come here!  Look at these shoes!  See if you can work on them!"

Around turned this bald-headed and small gentleman who was around my height and in work clothes.  I had never met a man around my height.  I was intrigued. Tony shuffled awkwardly to the counter.  I smiled at him, but he barely acknowledged me.  Rather, his worked hands gingerly touched my black work shoes from Payless.  He held them like the more precious treasures ever imagineable.  He disappeared to this wheeled machine in the back of the store that was still visible to everyrone.  I impatiently waited for the verdict about a removable lift being placed on the left shoe.

Tony shuffled back slowly to me again, shook his head, and said in his thick Italian accent: "No.  Bottoms of shoes are plastic.  Not good material.  I waste your money and time to work on this.  Find another pair of shoes."

Shocked and bewildered, I could not believe that there was nothing he could do to these shoes.  Maria sensed my disappointment and shock.  She said: "Tony no lie.  If he can't work on, then he can't work on.  Perhaps find another pair and we go from there."

"I just can't believe that nothing can be done with these shoes," I protested.

"No lying.  Find another pair with better material like leather or rubber and will do a good job," Tony said with a crooked smile. 

I walked back to my car in the sticky heat.  I should have known that Payless Shoes would not work.  That night, I went through all my shoes again.  I absolutely knew that I had to have work shoes lifted as the weather was going to soon turn cold and I spent most of my time at work where physical shoe adjustment had to begin. 

A couple weeks ago, my sister and I had shopped at DSW and I bought a pair of Clark's work shoes, but I was hesitant to have them changed or modified at all because they were such new shoes and nothing that I wanted to throw out like I wanted to eventually throw out the Payless shoes. 

But, then, I reasoned as I held the brand new Clark's shoes in my hands: A removable lift will be added on to the left work shoe, so I was not going to have to eventually throw out these shoes.  I nodded with determination.

A couple days later, I returned to Tony and Maria.  

"Remember me?" I asked.

They nodded.  I took out the original packaged box that the shoes were still in.  I removed the cover and Tony and Maria peered in like little children with wide eyes.  Tony took out one of the shoes and went to the back at the wheeled machine again.  I was holding my breath in anticipation.  

Tony walked back to me, broke out into a smile, and said: "Yes, most possible.  Yes, can do." 

I exhaled and made an agreement with Tony and Maria that I would return a week later to pick up the finished left shoe with the removable lift.  The week is up.  Tomorrow is the day I pick up my left Clark's work shoe.  Tomorrow is the day that I hope my Cinderella Shoe Complex will be complete and fully fulfilled.  And, tomorrow is the day of beginnings of adjustment and preparation for my hip replacement surgery that looms in the very near future.  Here is to tomorrow.

Keep smilin' until we meet again,

Mary :-)

The Game Plan

On August 2nd and 3rd, I went doctor appointment happy.  I had my usual appointment with my osteopath for my biweekly and bodily tune-up.  I scheduled a new visit appointment with a rheumatologist just down the road from me.  I saw my orthopedic surgeon, and then I finally closed the two-day doctor meetings with my nephrologist.  It was four doctors and then 4'11" ABC (American-Born Chinese) lady me with my bad attitude left hip to determine if I was finally going through with my left hip total replacement surgery. 

I was most intrigued and even teetered on excitement with the rheumatology appointment.  When I confided to my closest friend about this rheumatology appointment who had somehow fell naturally into the reserach role of all my medical options, she said to me: "But, you do not have Rheumatoid Arthritis."

I grinned and said: "Yeah, but get this...rheumatologists see patients with all kind of arthritis!  If only I had known this years ago when I was diagnosed with the avascular necrosis and osteoarthritis!"

Ever the cheerleader and support in my life, she said to me: "Mare, that is really good that you are doing the reserach and taking control of everything!" 

I glimpsed the picture of this gray-haired and thick-framed glasses rheumatologist on the Internet and imagined him telling me of some magical or miracle cure to undo the damage that the Prednisone steroid had inflicted on me or to wave a magical stethoscope that my left hip could finally be "normal" and rid of the blood supply cut-off death that had decayed my left hip joint.  Even now after 20 years of dealing with the Arthritis and Avascular Necrosis of my left hip, there was still a part of me that imagined there could be some kind of cure for my hip.  I was a dreamer.  I was the idealist.  I was holding on to invisible hope. 

The waiting room was tiny with magazines haphazardly scattered on one pitiful coffee table in the corner.  I had missed my lunch and was munching aimlessly on low sodium Veggie straws and celery sticks.   I refused to check the clock, though I predicted that at least a half hour had went by.  In one corner sat a woman who was in her mid 80's with a walker by her side and swelled and blotchy legs.  In front of me sat a woman in her 60's with platinum dyed blonde hair, puckered red-colored lips, and electric blue eye shadow.  And, there was me.  29-years-old.  The youngest one in the waiting room.

With a thick Irish accent, the woman with the swollen legs glanced at me munching loudly on my Veggie straws and said: "You know that this is the two hour doctor, don't you?"

I stopped in mid-munch and said: "Really?  Does he always make patients wait 2 hours?" 

"That's why I just called him the two hour doctor," she said with a chuckle.

I was tempted to check my watch, but didn't.  I knew that looking would just cause me to get into a mode of irritation and bordering anger.   I stayed occupied with my food and watching the Arthritis documentary with factoids and drug commercials that was playing over and over again.  Apparently, actress Kathleen Turner had rheumatoid arthritis.  Apparently, Osteoarthritis was the number one and most common form of Arthritis.  Apparently...I snuck at peek at my watch...I had waited there for an hour and a half. I could feel the bubble of irritiation blowing up.

Just when I thought I may get all huffy, a tiny Asian woman who had to weigh about one of my legs and with a broken Chinese-American accent said to me: "Mary Wu?  I am the doctor's nurse.  You are next.  Come on in."

There was the rheumatologist in all his gray-haired glory, but he appeared frazzled and in disarray with bleary eyes at a small laptop in front of him. 

He glanced for a millisecond at me and said: "I'm really sorry for the delay.  We are being forced to be upgraded to electronic medical records and it is just taking forever to scan and type everything in."

I was wordless.  The lights were dim and almost created a romantic ambience.  There were piles and piles of paperwork and folders surrounding him as almost a barricade or shield from whoever sat in front of him. Lucky for him that the person who was sitting in front of him was me.

"I have to say, Miss Wu, your medical records are really well-organized and impressive," he finally said when he tore himself away from the laptop and looked in amazement at all my copies of medical history, recent bloodwork, medications, and doctors. 

"Ohh...well, that happens, you know, when you've been dealing with health stuff ever since you were little."

"So, tell me what's going on."

So, I told him.  Everything.  His eyes were in a tug-of-war battle with his laptop and me, but I believed that I was winning when he suddenly interrupted and said: "Wait, you have avascular necrosis?  Are you bone on bone?  Because, if you are, then I can't do anything for you.  The only option is a hip replacement surgery."

"I don't know if I am.  I just know that this year alone has been a roller coaster ride with my body with lots of muscle spasms and pain." 

"Well, if you aren't bone on bone then the only thing I can think of for you are 'Synvisc Injections,' which injects synovial fluid or lubrication into your bones and alleviates the pain.  However, the injections are not FDA approved for the hip and would need to be prior-authorized with your insurance and then require an Interventional Radiology Department to do a ultrasound guided with local anesthesia.  When you see your orthopedic surgeon tomorrow, have him do an x-ray of the left hip and if it is not bone-on-bone then we can go forward with this option, as it really is the only option left."

I cringed in response.

Injections.  Local anesthesia.  Prior insurance authorization.  No, none of this sounded good at all. 

Before I could express my dislike and discomfort for this option, he sent me into an examination room and said he would be in shortly.  That is when I realized that I was already running late to my osteopath appointment.  My appointment with the rheumatologist was at 1PM and it was already past 3:30PM.  I had no choice.  I had to leave and go to my osteopath appointment.  I apologized to the rheumatologist's nurse and sped to my osteopath appointment who took me right away. 

The first thing I told her about was the appointment with the rheumatologist.  My osteopath shook her head, which made her honey brown locks of hair fly.  "You absolutely cannot get those injections.  They will not help you because your hip joint is beyond repair.  They are not even FDA approved for the hip.  No, I don't agree with him at all." 

I nodded in agreement. 

Somewhere between her fingers manipulating and trying to align my aching back, the lightbulb turned on and brighter than ever in my head that I had literally done everything in my power within these last few years to put off this hip replacement surgery as long as possible and have taken care of myself to the best of my ability.  My weapon to fight against osteoarthritis and my deteriorating hip was to stay active with swimming up to four days a week and and walking as much as my legs could muster before pain kicked in.  I utilized my external analgesics of Bengay and IcyHot that made me smell like the menthal and mothballs of senior citizens.  I had a lift and orthotics to support my feet and minimal walking abilities.  I rested periodically.  I had struggled to find that balance of moving, but not moving as Arhritis is a constant reminder about quality of life and living.   I was vocal against the fight against Arthritis as the leading cause of disability.  I was my own best advocate for myself and my ardent attempt to help others. 

That is when I made my decision.  That is when I knew my Game Plan.  And, that is whe the tension and stress that had built up in me in these pass few months began to fade in that examination room with my osteopath kneading my body that was as dull and hard as dry and floured dough.

"I know what I'm going to do.  I'm going to put off the hip replacement surgery until Spring 2013.  September is too soon with too much going on with friends visiting and organ donation and transplant speaking engagements.  My family is too preoccupied now.  The weather is going to get colder and the timing is going to be busier than ever with the holidays of Christmas and New Year's.  I want the weather to be nicer so getting to appointments and doing whatever I need to do will be better in the nicer weather.  Summer is too far away.  I can't go another year.  Spring is the middle ground.  In the meantime, I'll continue with these oseteopathic treatments, swimming, staying active, my creams, and I'm going to look into building outside of the shoe to alleviate the pain and try to get a doctor's note.  One of my good friends has already looked into the information, and I know you already have the standing X-ray that I took a couple weeks ago so the measurements in the leg discrepancy can be determined.  Once I have those measurements then I could go to a shoe repair place to try to build outside of the shoe.  Most of all, I am going to lose at least 10 pounds."

I paused for a breath.  Very strangely, I had never felt so calm, serene, and suddenly so scarily sure and certain of myself and my decision that this was the path I was going to take.  This was the decision I made and the Game Plan was just about laid out and set. 

My osteopath had been encouraging me ever since last year to get this surgery in September.  I held my breath, awaiting for her predictable shake of the head and disagreed disappointment, but she finally said: "That sounds good to me.  I'll get the measurements to you along with the shoe repair place as soon as possible.  I know that you are doing the best for you and your hip."

Just like that.  Three simple sentences of her actually agreeing with my very own choice that had mentally tortured and twisted my brain cells and my friends and family who patiently listened to my ongoing worries and concerns. The decision-making process, or any process for that matter was always more difficult than the final end point or conclusion.  I exhaled.  Relief filled me, and the weight of the decision I had fought to make was lifted. 

Two doctor appointments down.  Two more to go. 

I always looked forward to seeing my orthopedic surgeon because, quite frankly, he was cute.  He had these blonde curls, glasses (I am always a sucker for a guy that wears glasses!), tall at around 6'4, and had this sturdy and toned upper body and crooked half smile that made me swoon just a bit.  Surgeons are notorious for anti-social and lacking interpersonal skills, and this surgeon was definitely in the awkward category but many notches above the average surgeon with his smile and bluntness that was on the funny-gawky side. 

When I shared my latest with the rheumatologist and especially my bright lightbulb moment that I was going to seek at building outside of my left shoe as my last resort before surgery and that a dear friend of mine had done research on orthotists that specialize in lifting shoes to equal out leg discrepancies, he said simply: "Well, it sounds like you know much more about it than I do."

I chuckled and bit my usual sharp tongue from saying: "Well, duh." 

He said, "I'm with you on your game plan.  I just don't agree with the rheumatologist because your hip is beyond repair.  The injections will probably do more harm than help you in anyway." 

Then, the next lightbulb moment came that my orthopedic surgeon clearly did not specialize or know a thing about leg discrepancies.  His only job was "the carpentry job" of cutting open my left thigh in an anterior position, digging through my muscles to then locate my crumbled hip and saw it out to replace with ceramic on ceramic material that we could only hope would not squeak, stay durable, alleviate pain, and cause me to move and groove like any normal 29-year-old yearned for.  It was as clear as day that my osetopath was the gal that I had to stick with like glue with the shoe-building option.

My last doctor's appointment was with my nephrologist.  Out of all of my mainstream physicians, he was my favorite.  Out of all of my doctors, I somehow felt like he was the one that held everyone together, because everything always went back to the root or origin of my problems-- my chronic kidney failure and all the lifetime immunosuppressant medications that had taken its toll on the various parts and functions of my body.  He reminded me of my Father with the way he sat next to me to truly listen to me yammer on and on.  He meticulously checked my medications and the bloodwork I had to have done.  He updated me that the next pieces of the game plan was:

1) Lose Weight-- he gave me a business card of a nutritionist to see

2) Find a Primary Care Physician as she was going to be another go-to person who needed to give me medical clearance-- he gave me another contact phone number

3) Check about my blood pressure.  My blood pressure was on the low side and the wheels in his head were turning that maybe I should be off my blood pressure medication because perhaps it was the culprit for my fatigue and doing more harm than help. 

4) Indeed, follow-up with my osteopath on building outside of the shoe and obtaining a doctor's note for my workplace that I was going to live in a certain pair of shoes for the next six months to relieve the arthritic pain that hammered at my hip and to get my lower extremities in as much shape as possible prior to surgery. 

5) Keep up with swimming, light walking, and the balancing act of staying active, but not overdoing anything. 

I completed my last appointment with my nephrologist and truly all my other doctor appointments (with the exception of the rheumatologist) with confidence, relief, but, most of all, hope. 

I did not want to admit it but I had lost a great sense of hope in the battle to make my decision.  It was not until I gained all the details to make my Game Plan of my Decision that I realized just how anguished and hopeless I had truly been.  But, this is life.  Life moves in waves and the up, down, upside down motions of a roller coaster ride that makes us scream with fear and then laugh and cheer with gusto. 

The Game Plan is in motion.  I await my measurements and the shoe repair clinic details.  I forge forward with shedding pounds and alleviating the heavy weight burden that I have gained these past few months.  The appointment with the primary care physician is scheduled.  I do not have any regrets, and only look forwards, upwards, onwards, and beyond in the best, positive, and only way possible in this roller coaster of life. 

Keep smilin' until we meet again,

Mary

Acts of Kindness

My left hip has taken a toll for the worse. 

But, the newbie and unaccustomed physical pain that is now attacking and spreading like a slow-moving and vicious virus in my anterior left thigh along with the usual posterior and left side raw, tingling, and nearly electrifying pains do not even compare to the mental torture.  Such mental pangs leave me craving and needing a frontal lobotomy procedure to quiet the various voices of my family members, friends, and doctors in my head more so than the hip replacement surgery. 

The only voice that has been missing in action amongst the chorus of other voices is my very own voice and what I truly want and need for myself and my body.  I've been asking myself every single day and nearly every single minute:

"Mary, what do YOU want?"  or

"Mary, what do YOU need?"

and:

"Mary, you have FINALLY grappled with the biggest hurdle ever that you have to get a hip replacement surgery.  The BIG QUESTION IS: WHEN?! MAKE A DAMN DECISION, AND JUST DO IT!!!" 

But, every choice, action, and decision we make or take affects the people I love and care about the most from the decision-making process to the day of the surgery and then, finally, to the aftermath of rehabilitation and coming to grips with a replacement gal in me who has had a total of 5 kidneys and soon to be replaceable hip....and a patridge in a pear tree **chortling** 

No matter how many times people have turned into broken records and feathered, shrieking parrots to repeat to me: "Mary, you can't think about other people.  You only need to think of yourself," my overdriven mind that is a combined gift and curse can't help but see how the unfair and yet blessed cards that I was dealt with are hurting my family.

Sprawled on the couch at my parents' home face up and all snot-nosed and with fat tears rolling down my face on 4th of July, I said to my Dad: "I'm all set for the surgery in September, but I keep wondering what is it like to have these artificial items in my body?  What is it going to be like to have a new hip?  What is it like to supposedly NOT have pain?  I've been accustomed to my messed up hip for so long that maybe the doctor is right that a sudden change with this hip replacement surgery will have an adverse result rather than a helpful result.   It is the age old and ongoing question of do I get the surgery when I can't take the pain anymore or do I get the surgery to prevent all my other body parts from falling a part on me?  It is the age old and ongoing question of do I deal with the pain and what I know as opposed to dealing with something brand new that can be either really great or really horrible?"

Without waiting for my Dad to answer me, I continued to ramble on, "I'm realistic, you know.  I'm not worried and don't care about the surgery.  Cut me open.  Slice me up.  Pop in those ceramic on ceramic babies and bring it on.  I'm just terrified of the aftermath.  I'm scared of the rehab, depending on other people, how all of this will affect everyone else, and that, God forbid, something horrible is going to happen to my kidneys.  But, most of all, I'm scared of the weight and responsibility that my decision will bear on me and the people I care about.   Right now, you and all the other people I love and care about suffer from seeing me in pain, but what if I end up making you suffer more if the surgery goes wrong? If something goes wrong, I will be so furious and angry at myself and the world.  I know it.  I know I will.  The last thing I want to do is regret a decision that I weighed so heavily on..."

My Dad's lower lip stuck out like a little puckered baby.  The life lines on his face that were partly caused by me and all the health challenges that began when I was 7-months-old were crinkled and drawn together in deep thought.  He sat on HIS couch (no one else was allowed to sit there except for him) and finally said: "You have to go through the surgery with a positive attitude that there will only be a positive outcome.  If something goes wrong, we'll deal with it.  If everything goes right, we'll celebrate.  Whenever you are ready for the surgery, you are ready.  And, I'll be there in whatever way I can be, but you have to know that I'm no longer running on 8 cylinders.  I'm only on 2 cylinders now...."

That is when my petite and soft-spoken Stepmom stepped in and said: "Your Dad is getting older, too.  Your Dad has health issues, too.  This is what you should and need to do: Finish your book and publish it.  Lose weight, so you can be in tip top shape for surgery.  Take things easy, and lessen the load on your plate.  Look into building outside of the shoe or finding some level of comfort from now until the Spring when you should get your surgery.  The fact that you are having doubts...the fact that you are still so active and able to manage everything...the fact that you still thing about such activities and things to do means you are not ready for surgery.  You have to mentally prepare yourself.  The best time for you to have the surgery for us is next Spring or Summer anyway because of your Dad's teaching schedule.  That's it.  Case closed."

I only said to my parents as I looked between them back and forth like a pendulum: "I don't think my body can handle until next spring."

They just stared back at me, not knowing what to say.  Not knowing what they could say.  And, off was my mind to the races with knowing that I am choosing the hip replacement surgery, but not knowing WHEN without affecting my family and their lives and schedules.  Do I get the surgery in September?  Autumn.  Good season.  Beauiful season.  A season that I could recover in.  But, if I get the surgery in Autumn then what about the transplant event I was invited to in September?  What about my long-lost guy buddy in Chicago, Illinois who has had two heart transplants and a kidney transplant that I am supposed to meet in September?  What about my dearest friend in Argentina that is supposedly coming in October?  Is September too soon?  It is literally around the corner.  Then, September is going into winter and winter is not a pleasant time to deal with anything with my health....

Okay, then I thought, what about Spring?  Yes, Spring is warmer.  Yes, my parents schedules should supposedly be lighter.  But, can I wait and tolerate the pain that has hammered at me relentlessly this past year?  Can I do it?  Yes, I can do it if I have to for my family.  But, I don't know if my body can do it. 

Seeing my osteopath yesterday was the straw that finally broke my back.  I was absolutely dreading seeing her because she made her stance very clear that I could no longer avoid this hip replacement surgery.  I really did not want to hear her lecture, yet savvy coaxing that I had to go through with this surgery, because her words would only conflict with my parents who were making it abundantly clear that they were getting older and guilt washing over me that I was adding to their age.  On the car ride to my osteopath, the insides of my stomach churned with gut-wrenching twists.  I coached myself to not even mention the surgery and prayed that she would not mention it either.  My prayers were useless. 

She asked me: "You are set to get the surgery in September, right?"

I felt like I was in middle school again with being backed into a corner and ready to be given detention.  I stumbled and stuttered over my words about my parents' and their schedules conflicting with Autumn and that Spring was probably the best because the weather would be warmer.  I yammered on and on until my osteopath finally placed a firm grip on my wrist and she said: "You know how I feel about the necessity of you getting the surgery.  Focus on the Transplant Games that you are competing in.  Take everything out of your mind.  Wipe all the voices and opinions that you have heard from me, your parents, your friends, etc.  Let go.  You have time to think about what to do.  Your body will tell you.  You need to do what you need to do.  This is about you, Mary Wu.  No one else.  You need to do what is best for Mary Wu."

I whimpered pathetically: "But, I don't know what to do.  But, I don't have time.  Time is running out." 

Returning back home, my mind went from overdrive to out of control about my family and how my decision of when to get this surgery was going to impinge on their lives.  My thoughts were so out of control that I posted on my facebook status:

"Every decision and action we make or take has consequences on ourselves and others. Yes, I do believe in thinking before acting, but my brain is in overdrive. I so need a sign about what I should do. Either a sign or a frontal lobotomy will do. *sigh*"

I was officialy and incredibly fed up with my mind going mad with the vicious circle of thoughts, but then the acts of kindness from my friends (my Father does call them "my angels") stepped in like beacons of light. 

The first act of kindness came in a form of a long email from my friend for at least 20 years with the subject entitled: "I am Your Sign."  This friend had been with me when my first kidney transplant had went through complications, my second kidney transplant and an acute kidney rejection, high school, college, and now as we approached 30-years-old.  Out of all my friends, she knew how my mind worked, but she especially knew my spirit by saying:

"The longer you put off a decision, the more likely it will nag at you and you don't want to deal with that lone with your discomfort.  A surgery is a surgery, but when it comes to its success, half the battle is YOU yourself not statistics.  Mare, you are the feistiest person I know and if there is anyone I know that could have a successful outcome to hip replacement surgery, it is you.  You are tops in your game.  And, you are not alone.  Everyone loves you and will be there for you." 

I have yet to reply to her email, because I end up feeling all emotional and sentimental all over again when I read and re-read it.  She has been the one to give me a boosted reality check wrapped up in sweetness, sympathy, and support all in one. 

The second multiple acts of kindness has come from a close co-worker of mine who I have met outside of work to go book hunting happy.  She has literally listened to me carry on about my predicament without shedding one opinion when I've shared, made me homemade Cosmos in tinted $1 plastic martini glasses, and has been the one to pick me up and drive me around to our bookstore getaway.  The only words that slipped from her lips when I told her the latest back and forth fiasco was: "It is a tough decision." 

I can never thank her enough.  She has been the one to make me forget and escape from my thoughts for just a little while with laughter and a world of books, wonder, and old-fashioned: "Let me be there for you just to be there for you, and I will be there for you without saying one word.  Because I care.  Because you are my friend." 

Another act of kindness came from my peaceful and calm colleague.  I tried to explain my situation in with an analogy: "So, my body is like my toilet when it was having problems..."

"You are comparing your body to your toilet?" He asked with crooked, yet doubtful smile. 

"Yeah, do you remember when my toilet wasn't working? I think I told you about that. So, the toilet was clearly broken but still manageable whenever I lifted that little flap thingy on my own.  That one guy came to fix it, but he ended up making it worse.  The toilet ended up flushing every 10 seconds.  That guy said that my only option was to buy a new toilet.  I didn't trust him, went to another guy, and that guy ended up fixing the toilet with the right material.  Therefore, this is like my body.  Sometimes, you rather just deal with what you have rather than a whole new situation that could cause more problems for you.  And, then, sometimes it is a matter of having the right person with the right material.  And, although I trust my doctors, I'm not sure if a new situation is going to be a right situation when I've been dealing with the same situation and can manage it as I have been now."

He just stared at me with a bemused expression.  Going further into our conversation, he finally said: "It isn't an easy decision.  But, you have to do what you have to do for you.  For no one else.  Without thinking about other people.  But, you know what you should do is have a family meeting with all your calendars and then choose a date that works best. "

"That's not a bad idea," I said. 

I can never thank him enough for listening and providing that voice of logical reasoning and thinking.  As soon as he said that to me, I contacted my family saying that we needed to find the best date that would work so we could work together as a family. 

More acts of kindness have derived from my college friends who I met with a couple weeks ago in the sultry and steamy New York City heat.  I had not seen one of the college friends since I graduated from 2004.  She suffered from diabetes, and knew all too well about my battle for balance of craving to stay active and do all that I have to and want to do yet being held back from my worsening body.  She boldly told her parents: "Mary has a hip condition.  We have to get a head start to walk there, and she needs to rest periodically." 

I stared at her open-mouthed.  I didn't even know what to say.  When the walk to the restaurant began, she said: "If I'm walking too fast, just let me know."

After a 10-minute walk, I had to sit down.  My friend shocked me again when she said to the hostess at the crowded Italian restaurant that swarmed with overheated bodies: "My friend has a hip condition.  She has to sit down.  She can't wait an hour standing up.  Something has to be done."  She forced me to sit on the edge of a wooden seat until I eventually has to take over the entire seat.  My other college friend stopped to wait for me and gently put her hand on my shoulder when we were finally called to sit down after the hour-long wait: "Don't worry, Mary.  I'm here for you.  I'll take care of you." 

I was wordless and warmed in my body to such care, concern, and protection from my college friends.  I can never thank them enough for being my protectors and voice when my voice has been lost to ask for help and about my weaknesses. 

I think about these acts of kindness, and I wonder if I could ever be as patient, kind, logical, protective, and supportive as all my friends have been to me? 

These acts of kindness from people who are unrelated to me, yet know me all too well with my mind on speed, meticulous attention to all the details involved with the surgery and anything/everything else, and anguish from seeing my family hurting because of me.  These acts of kindness make me stronger and able to say to my family who I love more than anything in this world: "I'm going to be okay, because I am too lucky and blessed to have so many people here for me.  More than that, we are going to be okay, and we are going to get through this latest hurdle as a we and not just me."  These acts of kindness propel me to give back and give forward with more kindness than ever imagineable.  These acts of kindness from my doctors, friends, and my family make me understand that my aching Arthritis, deteriorating hip, and physical weaknesses force me to a role that is completely out of my comfort zone and that entails asking for help, depending on others, and being out of control.  It is out of my comfort zone that I am finding my voice and making my choice for me that, I believe, will only do the people I love and myself good in the long-term. 

So, yes, I can say that hip replacement surgery is going to happen, but it still hangs in a balance of WHEN. 

As my Dad said: "People in your situation have so much to teach the world and especially people your age about patience and strength."

And, as my osteopath said it best: "Mary, you've been strong all your life.  You've been the one to help and give to others.  You've been the happy one.  Now, it is your turn to ask for and get the help that your need and that your body is obviously calling you out to need." 

Finally, as the fortune teller in Taiwan predicted and said to my Stepmom: "Mary is going to meet and need a lot of people in her life from 28-32."  

Looks like the fortune teller was right on target, and how blessed I am with these acts of kindness from these "angels" in my life who are there and will continue to be there for and during my greatest and latest fight and feat to date.    

Keep smilin' until we meet again,

Mary :-)