A Pain in the Back

Remember those T-shirts vacation T-shirts once so popular? "My mom and dad went to Hawaii, and all I got was this stupid T-shirt."

I went to the Denver National Quilt Festival, and all I bought was fabric for a dress, fabric for a bandana and this supposedly amazing heating pad I thought I could tote along during Ride the Rockies.

The sales people rushed to get me to try out the long-lasting and refreshing heat of the Click It Hot Cold heating pad. ("Oh, look, you're even holding your back! You have back pain! You are so ready for this heating pad!") It took me about 15 seconds of test drive (sitting on a heated Click It) to decide this was about the best invention ever.

You click a little metal coin inside the gel pad, and within seconds, the gel contents crystallize and radiate the most luscious heat, perfect for an achy back or rusty hips.

The sales people didn't bother to tell me until after swiping my credit card this heating pad has to be boiled in water to be reset. For a lot longer than the two full minutes they claimed. And then fully cooled before it will work again. If you didn't boil it long enough the first time, you have to boil it again and wait all over again to make sure it doesn't partially crystallize again.

Not so efficient, in my opinion.

Before I got home from the Denver National Quilt Festival, I was trying to make the best of what seemed like a really stupid purchase. I thought perhaps the Click It might work if I poured a cup of hot water over the bag. I was reasonably sure I would be able to get hot water each evening of Ride the Rockies. I could just pay for a cup of hot water from any coffee vender, I thought.

Nope. The Click It must be boiled. Two minutes, they say, but my experience is more like 20 minutes, perhaps because I'm at altitude. The Click It must be fully immersed the entire two to 20 minutes. Pouring a cup of super hot water on it doesn't reset the product.

The heat the Click It produces once it's been reset is awesome. The heat lasts far longer than my homemade bean bags, corn bags and rice bags I nuke in the microwave for two minutes before using. The Click It also doesn't smell like Mexican food, popped corn or morning cereal. Not so sure that's a plus or a minus, but it's the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Click It has no odor.

This little blue gel pad didn't accompany me on Ride the Rockies. Had I known about the reset process ahead of paying for it, I doubt I would have bought it. I don't use it very often because it is so difficult to reset at altitude. The Click It is just too inconvenient, and, in my opinion, requires too much electricity to reset. Nuking my homemade bean bag is faster.

You know the old saying: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. In the case of the Click It, definitely so.


During Ride the Rockies, we happened upon a new (to me) heating pad called TheraPearl while looking for bag balm. I bought the sports pack size, at roughly a third of the price of the Click It Hot Cold pad, and have been using it on my back for a while now.

Just like my homemade bean bags, corn bags and rice bags, this little gem may be heated in the microwave, but only 30 seconds for this little miracle.


The TheraPearl is made of blue gel beads or pearls and is lightweight and compact. Not that it matters, but it's pretty to look at and fun to roll in my fingers when I'm not using it on my back, sort of like the packing air bubbles my brothers and sisters and I liked to play with when we were bored about 30 or 40 years ago. The TheraPearl literally feels like moving pearls around inside a firm bag.

It doesn't hold its heat as long as the Click It, but it's better than my homemade bags because it doesn't smell, and just like the Click It, the heat seems to be consistent across the pad. It's much more portable than the Click It or my homemade bags, and it can be frozen as well as heated.

I wish I'd found one of these before I bought the Click It. It would have saved me about $30, and I would have had it every night of Ride the Rockies.

On the bright side, I'm set for next year's ride, if we decide to throw our hats in the lottery!

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not again...

I used to run 3.2 to 5 miles every morning in the dark back in the 90s and early 21st century. I've never forgotten how good it felt to pound the pavement. It helped relieve all the stress from work, finances, lack of romance and dual troubled teenagers. It also completely held my diabetic tendencies at bay.

On August 15, 2001, I was hit by a car while riding my bike home from work. Two weeks later, the world changed. (9/11) My life took a series of dramatic hits during that time, too. Not in my price range, anyway.

The meniscus in my right knee was injured in the accident. Just like the discs in our backs, the meniscus provides cushioning for the bones it serves. It has no blood flow and cannot heal when damaged. Back then, there was no surgery to correct the problem.

I finally went to the doctor a year and a half later. Yes, I waited that long. Foolish, I know, but I'm stubborn. Plus, in that 18-month period, both kids had run away, my grandfather and brother had died and my uncle had suffered a stroke. Running hurt, but the hurt masked unbearable pain I couldn't manage or endure. Until I got drawn for my first Ride the Rockies in 2003, when healing of the soul finally began.

I wanted to be well when I lived out that dream. So I went to the doctor.

Off the bike and no more running for six whole weeks! I cheated every chance I got ("You didn't say I couldn't snowshoe up Mount Spalding!"), but I apparently got enough downtime to enable me to complete my first Ride the Rockies.

Then the doctor told me if I didn't stop running, I wouldn't be able to walk.

So I stopped running.

I never stopped wanting to run. Ever.

A year and a half later, a dime-sized bone chip found a comfortable (for it) resting spot inside my sciatic nerve. We don't know for sure how I chipped what we suspect from the location of the bone chip may have been my tail bone, but the first thing that popped into my mind when the neurosurgeon told me he'd removed the bone chip instead of the disc he was going to remove was a competitive volleyball game I'd played a month or so earlier.

I'd attempted to bump what felt like a 90-mph overhanded bullet serve from the other team to our setter, who had not been able to block the shot. Our spiker couldn't stop it either. The ball sent me to the ground so hard and so fast, even though I was perfectly positioned under it for the perfect bump, I literally didn't know where I was for a minute or two. I often joked I'd had birdies and stars circling my head while my eyeballs rolled around and around. I hit the gym floor hard. Really hard. On my derriere.

There had been a few other potential injuries that may have caused the bone chip, including getting hit by the car, and it's feasible a bone chip of that size could have worked its way slowly into the painful spot during the previous 18 months, but I've always thought the reason that particular volleyball game came to mind was because that's how it happened. I finished the season and have not played volleyball since. I've also not been hit by a car since then, I have not fallen on my hip while descending a 14er since then, and I have played softball only two or three times since then, and only because my work team would have forfeited without another female in the lineup.

My disc was fine when the bone chip was removed. But arthritis, nerve damage and back-arching prevented me from trying to run again.

Fast forward to last winter, when I finally went through physical therapy and slowly reclaimed portions of my life.

Ever since about March, I've wanted to take up running again. I finally took my first run in about nine years on Friday, August 23. I ran about three-quarters of a mile in quarters, and I felt as if I was in heaven. I didn't know how much endurance I had, and I expected it would take me a long time to work back up to a mile, which was my goal.

The next day, I ran nearly a full mile in roughly thirds. I was so excited, I began planning a blog post in which I'd share how I got better. I was so sure I'd be back up to a full mile by Labor Day.

We also took a mountain bike ride that afternoon. It was the first time I'd both run and ridden in the same day in about 12 years. I had planned to do only 20 miles, but the biting flies were so bad while I waited for The Lizard to finish his longer ride, I opted to keep riding without stopping because that worked better than my Skin So Soft repellent.

By the end of 27 miles, I was pretty sore. I'd allowed my Ride the Rockies saddle sores from June to heal before trying to slowly work up my mileage again, and this was the most miles I'd done since the MS-150, also in June. I thought that was why I was sore and stiff.

I didn't run or ride on Sunday. On Monday, I ran again, and I was exhilarated to complete a FULL MILE in halves. !!! Oh, I was doing SO well! I would be up to a mile in no time! I even told my neighbor, who also runs, that I felt better than I'd felt in years.

By the end of the work day, my back was nearly as bad as last year after the March bike wreck that damaged the very disc that didn't get removed in 2004 and after completing the second most difficult Ride the Rockies I've ever done because I didn't know I'd messed up my back. Once again, I couldn't move.

On the very day I published my "I feel good" post last week, I learned I did this to myself.

Mistake Number One: I sit eight to ten hours straight at work. Almost all summer long, I came home and sat at the computer to retouch wedding and senior photos for three to four hours straight. Sitting is the worst thing you can do if you have degenerative disc disease.

Mistake Number Two: On the day of our second MS-150 ice cream social, I carried all nine containers of ice cream all by myself because it was very hot that day, and I didn't want the ice cream to melt in my car while I went inside to get someone to help me. I knew any of my 130 co-workers would have jumped at the chance to help carry the ice cream, but I stubbornly did it myself. I knew when I put the ice cream in the fridge on our main floor I had screwed up. I could feel it. I thought it would be only a few hours.

(When my co-workers learned what I'd done, they threatened not to donate next year if I don't let them help me carry the ice cream next time.)

Mistake Number Three: People with degenerative disc disease are not prohibited from running, but once diagnosed, they are advised not to run at the intensity or the distance they were once accustomed to. And they are to work up slowly, never running back-to-back two consecutive days, even if they've worked up to a decent running condition. They are advised to run only three days a week, four days a week at most.

I didn't know that because my doctor and I had never broached the topic of me taking up running again. I suppose that would be Mistake Number Four. Had I known, I would not have tried to do in four days what I've now been told should have taken six to eight weeks or maybe even longer.

This serves as extreme punctuation to always discuss fitness plans with my doctor. I've got existing injuries, and I'm no spring chicken anymore. As much as I want to be normal, my traumatized disc demands I coordinate my fitness plans with a health professional.

Now I'm back where I started last summer, only not quite as severe this time around. Off the bike for six weeks. No more of the back maintenance I've been successfully doing since last December until I can do it without pain, and I likely will have to start over with baby steps when I am able to do my stretches and core-strengthening again. No more running until I can do it without pain, and that could take until December or January.

This feels like prison, but this time, I did it to myself. I don't like the punishment or consequences, but I would be even less happy if I were to re-injure to the degree I suffered last year. Stubbornness can take a backseat to determination, I'm learning. I can patiently wait until my body is ready for challenges again.

You can darn sure bet I will not make these mistakes again. If I can help it, I am not going to sentence myself to six weeks off the bike again. This will be the last time.

I will be well again. And I will be well in a healthy and structured manner.

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Bison Peak

yet another trip report from the archives...

4 February 2006

We got up in time to watch the sunrise from the road today. I got a lovely sunrise photo in Santa Maria, which I thought was a great name.

We hit the trail to Bison Peak shortly after arriving at the trailhead. It was really cold when we first started out, but as the sun worked its way over the clouds, it got warm enough for us both to take our coats off.

We had opted for the Lost Creek Wilderness because it’s closer to home, it tends to be more snow-free this time of year, and I wouldn’t have to do anything hard. There is elevation gain, but nothing like climbing some of the 14ers.

The Lizard has wanted to climb peaks in the Lost Creek Wilderness for forever. He lived too far away for a reasonable day trip before we got married, and now he lives close and is married to a wimp who can’t do anything but say, “I can’t.”

I had a bad day. My back was sore. The Lizard ended up having to carry my pack.

I had two good days in December, and I had four bad days in January. Now it’s February 4, and I’ve had three bad days already this month.

I took some pain reliever, which I don’t do often and don’t like to do. I could barely walk, but I did just fine about 15 to 20 minutes after popping pills.

I do not want to rely on medicine to feel good, but there was a noticeable difference.

When I got home, I soaked, and it felt relaxing, but it didn’t take the edge off the pain.

The Lizard just massaged me with the penetrating stuff, and that helps a little but doesn’t take the edge off. Now I’m sitting on the heating pad as I type, and it’s the first relief I’ve felt since the medicine wore off.

We didn’t make it up Bison Peak, unfortunately, because of me, but I did do nearly eight miles, which I think is the most I’ve done since The Lizard proposed. Too bad I spent most of that eight miles being miserable.

I knew when I got up this morning it would be a bad day. Before I took the medication, I was crying and telling The Lizard sometimes I wish I could wake up in the morning and the pain would be gone.

And yet, I really don’t have the right to complain. I can still do so much. Yet I feel like a part of my life has been stolen, and I want it back. I fear it’s never going to get better.

I need to focus on my spirituality. I need to be spiritually high between now and the rest of my life.

There, that did it. Now I’m smiling!

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Still Healing

Prior to emergency back surgery in 2004, the neurosurgeon said I'd be back to normal in eight weeks. He thought he would be removing a disk; I was unable to hold still for the MRI, so they didn't get a clear image.

While I was out cold, the neurosurgeon discovered a dime-sized bone chip embedded in my sciatic nerve and determined that was the root of my pain instead of a herniated disk. He removed the bone chip. When I came to, I was thrilled to learn all my parts were still intact and nothing had been removed other than the bone chip, but I somehow missed the part about how long the healing would take for this different-than-planned surgery.

We may never know how I chipped whatever bone that caused this situation. The neurosurgeon said it could have happened years earlier, or it could have been fairly recent.

At nine weeks, I was (very slowly) touching my toes. This was pretty exciting for me because other people I'd met who'd had back surgery had told me they still couldn't touch their toes at six months. A couple of back surgery recipients even told me they couldn't touch their toes after two years. Nevertheless, I was not healing as fast as I thought I should, and depression kept taking bites out of my sanity.

At six months, I asked the doctor what the heck was going on. I thought this was supposed to be eight weeks.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked. "This is minimal two years."

Two years?!? I'd been drawn for the 2005 Ride the Rockies, and we'd be embarking on that journey in just a month, and now I found out I still had another year and a half to go?!? This could not be happening to me. I wanted my life back. And I did not like my back!!!

Two years to be able to do some of the things I had been doing prior to the bone chip making contact with my nerve, the doctor explained. Nerve damage, he said, could take up to seven years to heal. If it was going to heal. No guaranties.

In February of 2011, that means I have eight months now to go. Eight more months that the dime-sized hole in my sciatic nerve can heal. If it can heal.

Gone are the days when I could make landmark improvement, such as the first night I was able to sleep on my stomach, nine months after surgery, something the doctor said I wouldn't be able to do and shouldn't do anyway. I'd always been a tummy sleeper, and I absolutely refused to give up on that one!

The day I could put my socks on without sitting down.

The day I could climb the stairs without holding onto the rails.

The day I could swing my leg over my bike when I was getting ready to ride instead of having to lay the bike over and sort of twist it up underneath my leg.

The day I was able to ride two hours in the car without having to take a stretch break.

The day I carried my backpack for the first time since surgery. That was another thing the doctor said I probably wouldn't be able to do.

The day I wore jeans the first time since the doctor had cut me open... Lee Denim Day (in support of breast cancer research and awareness) last October!

I've made a ton of progress, and I'm still seeing tiny little things every now and then. I can't complain. I can do so much. I did two of the hardest rides I've ever done in my life last summer. I have been incredibly blessed.

My dear sweet husband often teases that he enjoys being married to a living barometer. That's because I can feel storms coming six hours before they get here. I can't say I like feeling changes in the weather, but it is kind of neat to have more accurate and reliable forecasts than I can get from any meteorologist. (I can laugh about that because in school, meteorology was one of the careers I thought I might like to do for life. Just didn't know I was going to have a built-in knack...)

Ever since I was able to get back on my bike, I've faced demoralizing stiffness after a ride. Even when on the trainer in my basement during winter. I've been told arthritis can set in where you've been opened up, particularly at my age. So what I'm dealing with might not be all nerve damage. There may be other factors at play.

Nevertheless, I did everything I could to try to stimulate and encourage nerve growth, regeneration and rejuvenation. Avocado, blueberries, spinach, broccoli, lots of water, no red meat, no sugar, plenty of rest, tons of stretching, daily exercise, daily walking, daily prayer...

Last year during Ride the Rockies, I was stiff after each day's ride. After Day Four, the hardest day of the week, I wanted to go home. I didn't want to finish. I did finish, but I really had to fight my attitude every day. I had to continually tell myself this was vacation, and I was having fun. My back knew I was lying and wasted no time in letting me know.

The following weekend, I did the MS-150. After the first 75 miles on Day One, for the first time since surgery, I wasn't stiff. I couldn't believe it! It was a miracle to me. I don't remember if I was stiff after Day Two. I'd finished Day Two in my best time ever, even before surgery, and that's all I cared and celebrated.

After Pikes Peak in August, I was depressed because I came up half a mile short. And I hurt. My body did not like me at all, and I wasn't sure it was ever going to forgive me. I didn't do too much athletically for the rest of the year, not only because of other things going on in my life, but because I felt my body needed time to recover, emotionally as well as physically. The longer I went without doing much, the more the depression kept trying to take over. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was losing all the ability and strength I had built up.

After the busy holiday seasons, I was able to devote time to the trainer, not my favorite activity, but it was activity. I could try to lose the weight I'd gained, and I could try to rebuild some of my aerobic strength. Plus sweat a lot, and for some reason, that's a healthy thing to do. Stinky, but healthy.

Trainer miles don't count as real miles, so you'll never see them recorded in my road and trail miles; trainer miles count only for sweat and for keeping the saddle tolerable to the rear end throughout the off-season.

Two weeks ago, I wasn't stiff after I got off the trainer. I thought it was because I hadn't worked hard enough. So I worked a little harder the next night. Again, I wasn't stiff.

Ever since surgery, The Lizard has set up a footstool for me to use in getting on and off the trainer because I could not mount or dismount the bike without it. I just didn't have the flexibility, strength or balance.

Last week, I got on the trainer without the footstool. I had been increasing my mile-long sprints ever since the night I wasn't stiff when I got off. I really pushed this time. I did four one-mile sprints, and I did a mile more than I typically had been doing every night, in the same amount of time. I wasn't stiff when I got off the bike. Now I was beginning to feel this wasn't something I was doing wrong. This wasn't because I was slacking. This wasn't because I am a wimp. Something had changed, and I felt as if I was on top of a 14er, even though I'm a good 7,000 feet lower!

Now, I've been increasing my time on the trainer by a mile every night. And I can get off that trainer without the footstool. I'm not stiff when I get off. I can walk just fine.

I'm anxious to see how I do in this year's MS-150. I'm anxious to see how I'll feel afterward. I'm even excited instead of intimidated about Pikes Peak. I was worried two years ago that all the healing was done. I thought I was stuck in that condition forever. But I'm not!

I'm still healing. I'm still healing!

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Owie

11 September 2004
We have been planning for months to climb American Peak today. With American flags. But my pinched nerve is so sore, I can hardly move. So we did nothing. I've lost the entire weekend. Nothing helps. This hurts so bad.

13 September 2004
Saw the doctor today. He says I need to get rid of my wheelie chair at work, turn my whole body when I multitask, not just my arm or my arm and my neck, sleep on my side not my tummy, keep my spine straight when I sleep and stop crossing my legs. I've known about leg-crossing for years.

He isn't sure which of these may have been IT, and stress could be a factor. I could even have done it while thrashing in my sleep. Bottom line is that I will be taking all these steps to make sure it doesn't happen again.

14 September 2004
I was feeling pretty exuberant last night after getting everything popped back into place. Five minutes after getting in bed, though, it happened again. I'll bet I didn't get three hours of sleep. I now have not slept in four nights, and my work product shows it. Plus, I can't stay awake. And yet, I can't sleep, either. It is so intense. There is no comfortable position. And the pain just keeps getting worse.

16 September 2004
The most humiliating moment of the day – I couldn't zip my dress this morning. I had to change into something without a zipper because I couldn't dress myself. Then I had difficulty putting on my shoes, then tying them. It hurts so bad to move.

20 September 2004
The Lizard took me to Northglenn to see the Healing Field flags. He had to take me because I can no longer drive. I'm glad we went when we did, even though I was sore, because they were taking the flags down. If I'd waited one more day, I would not have seen them. They had a flag for every person lost on 9/11. To see that many full-sized flags in one place and know what they symbolize is almost too much to bear. For a moment, I forgot all about my own pain.

14 October 2004
I went to the doctor right after work, and he sent me to the hospital for x-rays. Now I am waiting to see if I have to have an MRI.

23 October 2004
Why is it that I can take these stupid pain pills that I'm not supposed to take while driving, and I'm more awake than I've ever been on any trip?

24 October 2004
I had to buy groceries because I have run out. I could only get one yogurt and a soymilk because that's all I could carry. Everyone says I waddle when I walk.

25 October 2004
I can't tell you a whole lot about any given day because I've been Halloween in action. I'm a total zombie. I go through motions. Some days, the pain is crippling. Some days, the pain is tolerable. I'm on valium and percoset. Oh, and steroids. Lots of steroids.

1 November 2004
My doctor is sending me for an MRI tomorrow, and he is sending me to a neurosurgeon on Wednesday.

2 November 2004
An MRI when you have severe back pain is about the worst thing that could happen, next to being flattened by an 18-wheeler or a mammography unit. The Lizard said I had to crawl up the stairs at my apartment. I don't remember that.

3 November 2004
The neurosurgeon, after looking at my x-rays and MRI, decided I need to have a what-he-thinks-must-be-a-herniated-disk removed.

4 November 2004
From the releases I had to sign about blood transfusions to the releases I had to sign for if I die on the operating table, I am scared.

6 November 2004
I no longer have shooting pains in my leg, but this also is the first and so far only time in my life I've ever had morphine. I don't remember much, except that trying to go up three flights of stairs seemed pretty daunting. They won't let me go home until I can do three flights of stairs.

I didn't have a herniated disk after all. I had a dime-sized bone chip embedded in my sciatic nerve. We may never know how it got there. The wounded nerve feels like a burning bullet hole now. And I feel like I have a 2x4 stuffed in my back.

11 November 2004
I held my food down today!

25 November 2004
Today my skin didn't feel like it is ripping. The superglue or whatever they used to seal up my incision came unraveled or unstuck. Whatever. That's what the "ripping" feeling was, I guess. Now it's gone.

30 November 2004
My doctor said I can use the stairstepper or my bike on the trainer for five minutes ONLY if I stop if it hurts. He said to be very careful because it might not hurt until the next day. He said my legs are very strong. He added two stretches to my routine, which I can start again in the morning. There are two normal stretches I still can't do yet. He said be patient and don't push or I will be really sore.

He said I can go snowshoeing in one to two months. He said not to carry a backpack. But he said I'm doing remarkably well and to keep it up.

18 December 2004
I could see my scar for the first time tonight. To me, it looks six inches. Ugly. Red. Huge. But the doctor said it's healing very nicely, that it's only two inches, and that it's pink, not red. Sure looked bigger and darker and uglier to me.

29 December 2004
I did 20 minutes and 4.6 miles on a stationary bike this morning.

31 December 2004
This has been a great year. I spent months being the equivalent of grounded. But my back is healing. I can walk. I can bend. I can shoot. I can sew. I can knit. I can crochet. I can sing. I can bake. I can write. I can rhyme. I can meet deadlines. And one day I WILL be able to ride my bike again.

2 January 2005
I snowshoed nearly two miles today!

11 January 2005
Two weeks ago I felt like I had a 2x4 in my back. Last week and this week it felt like I have a ruler in my back. I tell everyone I'm working toward chopsticks. They burst into laughter, and then add the next step – "toothpicks!"

I still have sharp pains when I turn certain degrees to the right. I still have moments of exhaustion when I feel the bullet hole in my butt more than ever, but not sharp like it was before the surgery. Just scratchy. I still feel like I have a brick in my back when I shower. Go figure. That is the most weird of all.

I'm not as good as new, but I can feel a difference every day.

23 January 2005
I walked through the valentine aisle of the grocery store tonight. I’ve been avoiding that aisle for YEARS. Maybe even decades. I can’t remember.

Today, I got to walk through it. And look around. And smile. And NOT cry! It took me a few minutes to realize, “Holy cow!!!!!!!!!! I get to buy valentine stuff this year! Woohoo!!!" So I did. [huge grin]

I rode 12.6 miles up Waterton Canyon, which is more than I've done on the stationary bike. Ten miles on the stationary bike is like maybe two or three miles on a mountain bike. So I wasn't really ready for Waterton. A couple of times, I didn't think I would make it, but I did.

Of course, I couldn't do the steep part, and neither could The Lizard. The snow is still too deep.

3 February 2005
I'm not sure my back will ever be the way it was before October. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do the things I'm yearning to do.

Everyone was really good about helping me carry things today. People keep telling me to stop trying to lift. But I keep trying. I'm so afraid I will lose all ability if I don't keep trying.

I’ve got be able to do more than I’m doing now if I'm going to do Ride the Rockies. 2005 route to be announced in less than 48 hours now…

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