My back hasn't felt "right" since 1982. Kind of like a small pebble in my shoe, annoying but not enough to be overly concerned about. Occasionally there would be a major blowout and I'd become one of those poor folks who could only straighten up in small segments. I know many of you have this type of problem and worse, so I'm not looking for any sympathy here. The thing is, I just assumed that having a "bad back" was part of the natural order of life, in the same category as having dandruff as a teenager or acid reflux as a 50-year-old; I thought it was all part of the grand design: if you throw in enough minor annoyances over a lifetime, the idea of eternal rest won't seem so bad.
My back woes jumped from minor annoyance to major problem last week and now my heart goes out to all of you out there who have been living with serious back pain for any length of time. I'm writing this blog having ingested any number of pain killers, so if it starts to make no sense, ckjgsok600fcng[j rjyp;lkje flkhfr understand.
Last week, Kate and I were on a quick trip to Boston for a family get-together. Earlier in the year, Matt had told me that he and Audrey would be making a trip up to New England in May. I decided to head up there with Kate so that we could get everybody together for an afternoon.My brother Marvin got his family involved and Ada's brother Bob rallied his fine crew. Add Josh, Cindy and the twins and you've got yourself a party. We planned a big ol' barbecue at Bob's daughter Pam's lovely house in Sturbridge. It just so happened that there were a whole bunch of "important" birthdays happening around this time, so the planning seemed perfect.
About a week before we were scheduled to fly up, my back "went out." I had been playing too much golf and, as has happened in the past, my back decided enough was enough. I shut it down, took up some serious couch space, tried to stay out of Kate's way, and waited for my back to calm down.
Instead, it got worse. Bad enough for me to head off to the emergency room at nearby Sacred Heart Hospital. With the trip to Boston just a couple of days away, I started to wonder whether I should call the whole thing off. In the end, I just couldn't bear the thought of all those people eating hot dogs without me, so, armed with enough narcotics to satisfy the cast of "Two and a Half Men," I decided to make the trip.
Here is a partial list of other decisions that would be considered just as stupid:
1. Jerry Seinfeld stealing the Schnitzer's marble rye from that lady.
2. Osama Bin Laden paying a million dollars for that dump.
3. John Lackey
Basically, I spent last weekend in Boston trying not to scream.
I wasn't always successful.
Predictably, Kate was sympathetic and tried her best to keep me comfortable and sane. We had a nice room at the Royal Sonesta in Cambridge and Kate did her best to entertain herself while I tried to see how many prescriptions I could amass in a three-day period.
If you're wondering, it was five.
Eventually, I made my way to the walk-in clinic at Mt. Auburn Hospital where the delightful term "bulging disc" was mentioned for the first time. An MRI would have to tell the tale; there was a possibility that an injection could shrink what needs to be shrunk and everything will calm down, maybe permanently. Obviously, I am in no hurry to have back surgery. As of this writing, I have had the MRI and am awaiting the doctor's recommendations.
I am proud to say that, aided by lots of big and little pills, Kate and I made it out to Sturbridge for a really lovely family gathering. I had quite a few people feeling sorry for me which was AWESOME! It had to make Ada smile to see all her people and all that love. It's something we're going to have to try and make happen each year.
Here's a little anecdote to close on. During one of the nights at the Royal Sonesta, Kate and I decided to grab some dinner and watch the Sox-Cubs game at the hotel's cool spot dubbed "The Art Bar." I was able to rally for a couple of hours and the bar seats were comfortable. We had a few munchies, quite delicious, and were enjoying the 15-4 drubbing the Sox were inflicting on the Cubs. Eventually, the empty seat beside me was filled by a very distinguished looking man with a definite middle eastern appearance. He was dressed in a sharp suit and tie and he introduced himself to us and started to chat.
For the next half hour or so, Jamal proved to be the perfect conversationalist. He was a successful businessman who had lived and traveled all over the world. He was born in Tripoli, Libya of all places and still had family there so we peppered him with questions about the maniac who runs that unfortunate country. Kate asked his advice on some travel ideas she has had and he was incredibly well-informed and helpful. We wished his lovely family good health and he did the same. It was just a delightful encounter.
I only mention this because it was so "cambridge-y." Down here on the Panhandle, the person sitting on the bar stool next to you wanting to chat is not likely to be a successful, cosmopolitan Libyan businessman. No, more than likely he is an unemployed shrimper asking you to pass him the hot sauce.
A little bit of Cambridge ain't such a bad thing every once in a while.
Ain't life grand?
J
