I have one small victory to report. With a little help from my friend, I managed to replace the support struts on my minivan's liftgate without braining either one of us. It's always great when DIY car repairs don't kill or maim anyone. There's enough killing and maiming going on in the world without my car adding to the carnage. In addition to the satisfaction of accomplishing one thing on my endless list of tasks, I saved quite a bit of money. I would have saved even more money if I hadn't had to go to the dealer for a replacement bolt that sheared off when I was about to embark upon my camping trip to Flagstaff. Remember that? That was a fun morning. Not.
I chalked up the pain to arthritis, and I'm probably diagnosing myself correctly, considering my mother had a hip replacement and my brother somehow managed to dislocate his hip while stretching in his sleep. Ouch. Mom got a metal shank in her shanksmare, and my brother got a new ball and socket. Thus, it wouldn't surprise me if my turn was coming soon, even though I'm just barely sixty-seven. This is not the kind of precociousness I admire.
Anyway, I got to thinking as I was stumbling around my room with my mother's cane, which she never used, having leaped straight over the cane to a metal wheeled walker, figuratively speaking. This pain does not seem to emanate from the actual hip ball and socket joint. I have been consulting with Dr. Google and it won't surprise you to know I now have multiple diagnoses, ranging from benign to dire. Dr. WebMD was equally creative. What did we do before internet doctors, I ask you! Go to real doctors? Ick.
I refuse to quit going out for my evening constitution around the mobile home park, despite the fact that every step burns and despite the fact that the vestibular spasms put me off balance as the waves sweep through my head every thirty seconds. I know I'm a broken hip waiting to happen, but that doesn't stop me. This evening my walk took on a meditative tone as I placed my feet carefully on the uneven asphalt. I would not have seen a snake or javelina or coyote until I was right on top of them, I was so intent on watching my feet. Besides managing the pain, I was determined to follow the directions of my favorite YouTube physical therapist. Apparently, my gait is partly to blame for hip flareups.
For instance, he advised me to walk with my toes slightly splayed. In my adolescence, I preferred to appear somewhat pigeon-toed, thinking that made me look more like Twiggy. I'm not pigeon-toed now, although I currently walk like a drunken sailor so there's no telling where my feet could end up. But tonight I really tried to turn out my toes, especially my right foot, while I minced along the road with my shortened stride. I'm not sure, but turning out my toes seemed to ease the pain somewhat. I had my head down, so I couldn't tell if people were watching me through their windows and wondering why I was walking like a duck.
More important than the splayed toes, the PT said I should pay close attention to my glutes. Specifically, I should squeeze them alternately while I'm taking each step. Left, squeeze, right, squeeze, so that the muscles support the inflamed hip. Well, I quickly found out I no longer have anything resembling muscles in my butt. My butt is flat as a board (but not as hard as a board, sadly), so there's nothing there to squeeze. I did manage to coax a little you want me to do wha—? from my left glute, but my right glute was MIA, nowhere to be seen. Just a floppy pile of jello. Now I can truly claim to be half-assed. Ha.
I made it home and collapsed on my foam rubber bed. My mind wandered into the past, as it is wont to do when I'm trying to figure out a medical mystery, and it occurred to me that I have felt something similar before. Not exactly the same, but similarly immobilizing in the buttocks region. Back then, I was both post-menopausal and vegan, which is not a combination I would recommend, but there I was, trying to maintain muscles on little more than soymilk and tofu. Plus, I was jogging almost daily, trying to tighten up my loose quads. It's no wonder my back and leg gave out. My muscles had atrophied from lack of adequate nutrition. That painful time led me to Dr. Tony, the wacko naturopath, which was another painful time, mainly in a financial sense. He flummoxed me with mumbo-jumbo, but he probably saved my life by telling me I'd better get more protein or else head south with the geese.
Now I'm going to do that thing that doctors hate so much and diagnose myself. Why not? I did it before with the vestibular issue, and they are starting to get on board, so why not diagnose my butt? Here's what I think. I don't think it's hip arthritis creating this stabbing burning pain. It's either a nerve problem or a muscle problem, brought on by sitting for extended periods of time on a $11.00 IKEA plastic folding chair in front of my laptop, which is sitting on a $17.00 Walmart wooden folding table that is just about two inches too tall for the height of the chair. It could be that lack of protein is playing a role, considering I don't get much these days and I'm not willing to eat animal flesh just yet. However, I think the precipitating trigger was my chair and table setup. The writing life is killing me.
That is why at this moment, I am sitting on the bed with the laptop on my lap, like any sensible sendentary computer user would do. My bed is on the floor, and now my desk is on the floor too. Maybe my hips will loosen up a little and enjoy life if I give them the job of getting up and down off the floor twenty or thirty times a day. Like they have a choice. I can always crawl to the bathroom if I have to. It's not very far.
