Tag: heating pad

The Ouch Monster Strikes at Night

It’s what I call a phantom ouch monster that attacks our bodies as we sleep.

Yes, there is such a thing because I just made it up.

So many friends have told me stories about waking up in the morning with parts of their body wracked with pain.

Why I ask? What did you do? Did you run a marathon in the middle of the night?

“The frightening thing is they were working fine when we went to bed,” they all say.

So what happened during the night?

The answer is always “nothing, I just went to bed. Then of course there was the usual bathroom trips, but I didn’t fall or bump into anything. So why does my foot feel like it’s broken?”

As one who has watched Sherlock Holmes ad nauseum I feel qualified to take on this mystery and find a hasty conclusion.

I have a theory. I think many great detectives, Holmes, Poirot, Scooby Do, Marple, quickly get a handle on the evidence and where it might be leading. Or is it that the writers already know the ending? I’m not quite certain, but I shall propose an idea that popped into my head while I was searching the cupboard for a box of Girl Scout cookies I may have overlooked.

There is obviously a bone fairy that comes in the night and twists and turns our bodies in unmanageable ways while we’re sleeping. When we awake, we suddenly face a knee that’s not working, an elbow aching, or any number of body parts screaming, “ouch.”

Why you ask would a bone fairy attack someone? And what the heck is a bone fairy?

Aha, this is the part you have to wait until the end of the story for Holmes to reveal…it’s actually the tooth fairy’s evil twin. I didn’t want to make you wait.

Yes, like Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West, related by birth, but oh so different.

There is no other explanation to these sudden body parts turning on us during the night.

Unless one chooses to believe the mattress is attacking.

I have awakened to painful toes, a shoulder than refuses to allow my arm to turn, and a neck that one can only call completely uncooperative.

Is it not bad enough that every day brings a new adventure in ouch-something-else-hurts land?

That the simple act of watching an athlete is depressing and trying to open a jar has become a task as Herculean as the Trojan Wars.

Where bending down to reach into a lower cupboard can seem like a guarantee of a shoulder injury. And forget leaning on a knee anymore!

I actually find it hard to believe I have friends that still go to spin classes and play pickleball.

Oh sure they have sore knees, but there is at least an explanation for their plight.

What can one say to justify an ace bandage on a knee when the cause was a pillow gone rogue?

I am aware of the whole twisting and turning thing at night, but to wake up unable to walk from it, this is new.

When young we literally twisted to music. We jump roped, ran races, roller skated on cement, and did cartwheels on the lawn.

Today if I unroll the toilet paper too fast I have to put a splint on my wrist.

So why does the ouch monster attack only at night while our guard is down?

While we are unaware that our bones or joints may be in imminent danger of being fodder for the evil Bone Fairy and no way of fighting back?

Can we protect ourselves from this evil and walk upright again?

I guess we could fool the fairy and sleep in a chair. Just like when you have knee or hip surgery and can’t get in or out of bed.

So when the Bone Fairy enters your bedroom at night to twist your knee into an unrecognizable part of your anatomy; surprise. You are comfortably ensconced in the living room La-Z- Boy, feet up and snoring happily away.

But can that evil ouch monster seek you out and hone in on a body part uncovered or unprotected?

I must admit that yes, it is true. While you sleep the forces of darkness are busily at work to create a vortex of pain to which you must awaken.

Suddenly there is an aching back, or unhappy elbow or pain that shoots down your hip into your lower leg.

Ah, the great challenge of a duel against an ouch monster attacking your unprotected body.

I have often asked myself why my body doesn’t fight back. Yell for help or scream a warning that your foe has entered the room.

At least you could awaken, jump out of bed and grab a heating pad or ice pack to defeat its evil purpose.

But alas, no. Your poor tired body sleeps away, totally unaware that when morning comes it will suffer the ravages of an enemy. One so sneaky it can enter during the night and attack without mercy.

Perhaps one day someone will invent a Bone Fairy trap. At night as you sleep it will awaken you at the first sign of something closing in on a bone or joint. Aha, and then you can do battle against this foe with no mercy!

Until that day we must do our best to stretch, ice and heat the bruises and pains from our invisible enemy.

Et tu Ouch Monster?

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

Someone asked the other day if I exercise at all. I indignantly responded that it depends on what type of exercise one means?

I must admit my exercise is age related. In other words, appropriate for someone in their laugh laugh, golden years to be doing.

They looked at me quizzically and I said I suppose one could say that yes, I actually get a great deal of exercise. Just not the same as one might be doing in their forties.

For example, when young you might do a series of yoga poses like cobra, lotus, downward dog, happy baby, etc. All very effective and good for the body and soul. Whereas I might do another type of yoga pose like say snoring dog, where I fall asleep on the floor while watching television with one leg up on the ottoman and the other on the floor. Good for the inner thigh muscles.

Or instead of cobra pose I might fall on my stomach and reach for my phone for an hour while I try to slither forward to retrieve it. I call that one the Apple worm slide pose. Same idea just a different name, but great for stretching.

Of course, the most exercise I get each day is moving the heating pad from one part of my body to another. You’d be shocked at how much exercise is entailed in picking up the heating pad and adjusting and shifting it into a new position. Wait, shouldn’t walking to the wall to plug it in count for something? And how about all the steps to take the heatable neck roll to the microwave? And the balance it takes to keep it around your neck?

I am very well aware of movement and I must say I get plenty each day.

First there is the number of steps to take my meds in a timely fashion. Each glass of water I ingest with my pills equals at least three trips to the bathroom. All cardio is welcome here.

I counted and most of my steps are a result of bathroom trips and I also count the ones to the bathroom during the night. I’m just not sure if the ones after midnight should count in the previous day or current day’s step total.

There is a great deal of hand exercise that goes on each day punching the phone to make doctor appointments. Keeps your fingers agile. Sometimes it might take as many as four or five calls to get through to a human being.

I am adamant that putting on spanks should be counted as weight training.  Does anyone have any idea how much muscle it takes to pull those damn things over your hips? Who needs dumbbells when you’re lifting your whole lower body weight?

I don’t discount how much energy is expelled when bringing in the grocery bags from Amazon and putting the food away. I refer to that particular exercise as the Amazon cardio/muscle building combination.

Does it count as resistance training if you stop yourself from eating a second sleeve of Oreos?

Recently I have been the recipient of comments from numerous people that my eyelids look anorexic and very wrinkled.

This is obviously the result of constantly closing them to avoid watching politicians when they appear on the news. I do also count bending and ducking their constant bullcrap whenever they speak for those newly lost inches on my waistline.

I am always working my upper torso by what I call the no-no-no workout. This entails raising my arms to tear my hair out over the crazy lies that come out of Washington. Who says politics aren’t healthy?

A great Cardio workout is easily accomplished just trying to find a salesperson in a mall. I only spend half the time traveling from store to store these days, because just walking through Macys to find some help can add up to a thousand steps.

One must not forget the health advantages to preparing meals. I mean walking to the freezer, removing the Lean Cuisine, walking it to the microwave, waiting for it to cook, placing it on a plate, opening a drawer to take out a fork and then walking into the dining room can provide all the steps you need in a day. I’m tired just thinking of it.

I’m not certain, but I believe it’s fair to count head shakes when my daughter asks me if I’m getting enough exercise.

The up and down movement of yes, I am, counts for something, I think. I mean it helps the back and neck muscles, right?

There are some lesser exercises and after all each step counts.

Things like answering the door for the cleaning service.

Never valeting my car in LA, which I count as quite a commitment to my fitness regime.

Dressing and undressing for every MRI, CT Scan, X Ray and doctor’s appointment surely must increase that activity level.

I’m not sure; does moving your eyes back and forth when you read a book count as facial exercise?

Many of my friends tell me they get great upper body breathing exercise from screaming at their husbands to get up and get their own damn diet coke out of the fridge.

There have been many studies proving it’s easier for Baby Boomers to get back into shape than today’s children to get into it. This is due to muscle memory from our active childhood lifestyle.

This sounds great in theory, but one must keep in mind at our age one cannot be certain our muscles still remember any better than we do.

Oh yes, I know how important it is to move your body each day so I make a conscious effort. There is of course a problem when you are intent on getting in as many steps as possible, and your body is intent on stopping you from doing just that.

But I have learned that with a constant supply of ice packs, heating pads and Motrin on hand, I shall prevail.

So take that Gluteus Maximus because Baby Boomers never quit!

Hmmm, how many calories do you think I just burned typing this blog?

Tripping The Light Not So Fantastic

I imagine we all remember how slowly time passed when we were young. It always seemed like summer vacation was a lifetime away.

I also remember how we all rushed through our lives. We couldn’t wait to turn sixteen so we could drive, or twenty-one so we could drink.

As we grew older we thought, wow, pretty soon I’ll get a senior discount.

How stupid do I feel? If I knew then what I know now, I’d say, screw the driver’s license I’m good just walking.

And to be excited about a senior discount? What the hell? Were the drugs we did in the sixties finally kicking in?

In our rush to speed through life and get to the next milestone faster than an LA blond chases a rich, old fool, we forgot one important thing…aging is a bitch!

We also were too foolish to realize that the road we hurried to travel was one way and return tickets don’t exist.

About getting older there is something upon which we can all agree…it sucks.

My life now is made up of doctor’s appointments, remortgaging the house to afford trips to the dentist, and an inability to live without an ice pack or heating pad attached somewhere to my body.

I travel frequently now. Only my trips aren’t to Europe, Asia or Bora Bora. They are trips over the rug, the curb, or the sidewalk that lifted up from a tree root. Hard to love trees after you kiss the pavement at twenty miles an hour.

I can even go to bed at night and wake up with a pain somewhere I didn’t possess the night before. It’s like the tooth fairy has been replaced by the pain fairy.

I find myself tripping and not in the way Timothy Leary proposed, but over any object that’s within two inches of my feet.

I swear sometimes I have seen a rug actually move closer to get under my foot and send me flying.

Someone should invent trip-free shoes or slippers that yell a warning when they see an object coming to get in our way. Now there’s a Nobel Prize I could sanction.

Speaking of trips, the bathroom is a place I frequent often at night without the need for a passport. Good luck getting back to sleep again. My bladder used to be the size of a lentil now it’s shrunken to a raisin.

Don’t for one minute think I’m alone in this clumsiness convention here. I’m always receiving calls from friends, and the minute I hear their voices I know immediately.

I start the conversation with, “Okay so where did you fall?”

If you think for one minute that after you heal there won’t be another adventure in pain awaiting you, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. If you can get across it these days.

Black ice, the enemy of the aging is the reason people move to Florida and Arizona. Even people who are old and senile are smart enough to know not to move to California for warmer weather. The danger of catching stupidity and insanity in this state can be fatal.

So, life has pretty much become, okay, on to the next thing. Or my favorite mantra, this too shall pass.

Of course, I haven’t even mentioned the really bad stuff that’s harder to fix than using ice packs or heating pads. There’s that to contend with as well.

So you’re probably thinking, “I know people who are old and live amazing and active lives.” That’s so rare Netflix does specials on them. Did you notice they all seem to live in clusters in a place that probably has no throw rugs, black ice or uplifted curbs.

I’m certain everyone over the age of sixty-five has a list of places they’ve fallen and every doctor or dentist they frequent is on speed dial on their phone.

My new favorite is going to lunch with friends. While we once used to actually peruse the menu for our favorite dishes, we now check for foods we are allowed to eat.

A typical friend’s lunch these days sounds like this…

“Oh I love their ravioli, but last time I ate it I was sick for a week.”

“I know, it gives me terrible heartburn. I’ll just have a salad.”

“I can’t eat salad, the ruffage gets to me.”

“They say you shouldn’t eat certain vegetables if you have acid reflux.”

“No green pepper please. I’ll be burping it for days.”

“I can’t live without my Tums. They literally save me.”

“Let’s order quickly cause if it gets too late I can’t eat a complete meal.”

“Waiter, can you please ask them to go easy on the garlic and make the marinara sauce with cream? Otherwise it’s too acidic.”

“I’ll just have half an order of the spaghetti please. If I eat too much, I can’t sleep all night and easy on the salt, I bloat.”

‘I was going to have a face lift but I decided to have my bladder lifted instead.”

“You’re smart to do that. Who can handle wearing those diapers?”

“Oh, and waiter, be careful not to trip over my cane, I’m still recovering from a fall.”

Lunch nowadays sounds more like a medical convention than a meal.

Then there’s the balance issue. I used to have such great balance that seals with balls on their nose envied me. Now I have to hold onto walls when I’m attempting to exercise.

Yet on a positive note, I do have friends who stay active especially the ones I call the pickleball posse. They seem to be able to do the things so many of us only dream of doing now.

Forget pickleball, I’m thrilled if I can just eat a pickle without heartburn.

Walking downstairs used to take a minute, but now it takes half the day. Instead of one foot after another, it’s one foot then put the other foot on the same step and then move on to the next one.

And heaven forbid there is no railing.

I have so many bars in my shower and tub now it looks like saloon row in Las Vegas after dark.

I guess if we weren’t all talking about our aches and pains we’d have to discuss the horrible things we now call reality. So maybe a fall or two is worth avoiding the bad trip that is the news today. Let’s face it, hanging in there is still the real goal.

I guess being a klutz is a good thing after all. It does prove we’re still here and kicking. Well maybe not kicking…

My Heating Pad Myself

My Heating Pad Myself

There are certain perks to getting older. Senior discounts, the inability to see close up in the mirror and no more pap smears.

However as with everything in life there is that darned old yin and yang thing, and growing older is no different.

What I’ve noticed is how many of my friends have been tripping. And no I’m not talking about LSD or cruises to Europe. I’m referring to standing up straight and walking without landing on the ground.

I’m not sure why it happens and if there is anything to be done to prevent it. I’m saying that only to alleviate the guilt I feel for every time I stupidly fell after failing to look ahead or watch where the hell I was going.

Yes, I suppose many of us should be doing a better job of focusing our eyes, but I don’t think it’s because of talking on our phones or texting.

It seems many of us fall in or near our homes.

Silly things like missing a step, or slipping on the floor, or tripping over an area rug or your dog. Or sadder yet our own feet. Yes, it happens. Then of course there are those dreaded steps.

Even friends who are in what I consider good shape, or as I like to call them the pickleball posse, find themselves sprawled out on a floor wondering what the hell is happening?

After a few falls you are determined to be super careful and you are for a while. That is until slam bam a piece of ice, a lifted sidewalk or a turn of your head at the wrong time. Now boom, you and the cement are sharing a passionate embrace.

If you are really lucky you won’t fall on your fake knee, new hip or break anything necessary. But even if you sprain or bruise something welcome to the ouch, ouch, ouch, I can’t get out of bed bunch.

The next day you find yourself in agony over the moans and screams from every bone in your body and the mental anguish at hating yourself for being such a damn klutz.

Parts of your body hurt you didn’t even fall on. Like sympathy pains for that thigh now turning a bright shade of blue.

So why do people fall and is this restricted to us more mature and sophisticated fallers?

Nope, yet it seems that it is somehow expected as you age.

So many myths about why. Your balance is off as you age, isn’t that why God invented Yoga? Your eyesight isn’t as good, hello Cataract or Lasik surgery. Or maybe your bones are weaker and on and on.

I disagree. And I agree.

When I fell when I was young and believe me I did, it seemed I bounced back sooner. Like one of those bob em-toys you punch and it stands back up for another punch in the face. Nice toy, I just realized there’s something really masochistic about that smiling evil sucker. But I digress.

When you fall past sixty it’s not just the bruises that come out to play, but the achy bones and gigantic ouches with each step.

Some of us who have a large amount of martyr in us choose to hide our latest fall from our children.

Oh yes, we know what we’ll hear. My son would like to encase me in bubble wrap and keep me in the house for as many years as I have left.

My daughter will shake her head and ask, why are you always falling? You need to look where you’re going. And despite my attempts to hide a fall from her one false move when we’re on the phone and I scream ouch and give the whole shebang away.

I have a friend who will cover herself from head to toe with clothing even in the hottest days of summer to hide her bruises from her kids.

So how to cope with all this tripping, falling and bruising.

Ice. I spend a great deal of time with ice and I’m not even a skater.

I have seven ice bags and I have been known to use them all simultaneously.

I think the best thing they could invent would be a giant ice pack that you could just crawl inside of until the bruising goes down.

Then of course many say after the ice should come the heat.

I’m not a doctor and I don’t even play one on TV, but I definitely believe in the heating pad.

If there was one that covered my entire body head to toe, I would wear it constantly. Crawl inside it for hours.

As it is I can’t exist without the heating pad.

It’s funny I remember my mother always lying in bed with the heating pad on some part of her body.

Okay, I’m a little better than that, at least I sit on the couch with it covering me, but now I understand why my mother was addicted.

The minute I pick it up my aching bones start dancing and singing, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

It’s like a party.

“Hey guys, the heating pad’s here. Put on the music and we’ll dance.”

I swear I can almost hear them sipping champagne and eating little quiches.

It’s like I get happy in an oh-my-goodness-that-feels-so-good kinda way.

My back relaxes and my bruises start to purr.

Damn if I know what that heating pad does, but I know that when you’re past sixty it’s like a best friend.

I come in the house and I run to it.

I can’t wait to plug it in and snuggle underneath. I swear you fall into your old people’s nap at least ten times faster when it’s on.

I have a friend who has already worn out one of those ten-pound hot blankets and is on his second one.

I had one, but I couldn’t lift the darn thing.

If there was a fire, they’d have found me lying underneath it struggling to get out.

But they do feel really good if they don’t crush you to death.

So is falling and self-heating something we all have to look forward to down the line.

That seems to be how it lays out.

I hate falling, yet no matter how careful we are stuff happens.

My friend was in school teaching and a student ran into her and broke her hip.

She was in rehab for one year.

Of course, I love to joke, but falling is no joke, people get seriously injured or worse, yet it seems to be a frequent occurrence these days.

So, I guess all one can do is ice and crawl under the heating pad. Or reach for the bubble wrap coat. Perhaps Ralph Lauren will add a few to his Spring collection.