Chronic Back Pain Part 1
- At March 31, 2015
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 2
So, some of you know that I’ve been struggling with issues with my shoulder-back area. It’s a chronic sitting thing. The disease of our age, I suppose. Who hasn’t had trouble of this kind, I ask you? First-world problems.
Nevertheless, imagine a cramp in your calf (is that what they call a charley-horse? I’ve never known for sure.) but instead of your calf, it’s under your shoulder-blade somewhere, deep inside. And it doesn’t stop. A knife in the back would be a kindness but where’s an enemy when you need one?
After one bad episode in fall that abated – more or less – with prescription meds and time, I got another one about a month ago. What freaked me out this time was that exercise, ie: yoga MADE IT WORSE! Went to my clinic again, with very low expectations, I might add.
But to my surprise, the doctor I got this time not only took me seriously but sent me for a battery of tests to rule out, among other things, cardiac problems. (Post-menopausal woman with a panicky look in her eye and radiating back/chest pain… hm.) Then, he sent me for something called Intra-Muscular Stimulation, aka Dry Needle Therapy.
That knife in the back I was looking for?
Found it.
Gotta go. Limiting the time I spend at my desk is part of my therapy. Come back soon, I’ll tell you more then. In the meantime, is there a therapy that’s worked for you to counter chronic back pain? Please, share!
Wedding Bliss
- At April 25, 2014
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
Wedding Bliss!
This summer, our oldest daughter is getting married, right in our own backyard! I’m so excited to be a mother-of-the-bride. Thankfully, Bridezilla is nowhere to be found!
My own wedding, many years ago, was a small affair in a beautiful old stone chapel near where my husband and I met. As we lived in Ontario and the wedding was in Saskatchewan, this meant planning-by-distance. I do not recommend this.
We flew in a week before the whirlwind event, and flew out the morning after. Thanks to my family, it was a lovely ceremony. My sister – and only bridesmaid – made it even more special by singing for us, a beautiful song that had everyone in tears.
My daughter is also planning her wedding from a distance. Fortunately, she’s super-organized, a good thing, since she has seven – that’s right, seven – bridesmaids! But if I know my girl, it will still feel intimate, focused on friends, family and fun. And of course, the celebration of love.
In my latest release, RESISTING THE RANCHER, the story unfolds in the weeks leading up to a garden wedding at which my hero Jonah and heroine Celia are best man and maid-of-honor. I confess that as I wrote the wedding scene, I was imagining the flowers and decorations that will adorn our own yard this summer.
There’s something special about every celebration of love. Whether you were there as the bride, groom, attendant, parent, guest or guy who parks the cars, is there a special wedding memory you’d like to share with us?
From a guest blog post at Kate M. George
Bitten By the Downward-Facing Dog
Last spring, I did 100 consecutive days of Bikram Yoga. 90 minutes of sweating, bending, sticking, stinking yoga, every day for a for more than three months straight. I was invincible, toned, and annoyingly vocal about the benefits of Bikram Yoga. Everyone should do it, I proclaimed. (Well, everyone without a heart condition.)
The heat and humidity are brutal, but as far as the postures go, it’s relatively easy. Breathing exercises, standing postures, balancing postures, a few lying on your back, a few lying on your belly, a final twist and Bob’s your uncle. No inversions, no planks, no dogs facing anywhere.
So in 100 days, I got all bendy and strong and self-righteous.
Then I made a crucial error. I took a break. Straw #1.
Also, I started Extreme Gardening again, which I count as exercise, but in fact, a repetitive injury scenario. Straw #2.
In fall, a new, non-hot yoga studio opened, and my husband agreed to accompany me. (He’s convinced hot yoga will kill me, and he’s refused to be there to witness it.) I was all gung-ho to get bendy again and eagerly threw myself into the deep end. After all, I know what I’m doing. This is old hat for me, piffling yoga compared to the truly hard stuff. (Yoga’s not competitive, my eye.)
I forgot about the inversions. Downward-Facing Dog, to be specific. Third and last straw.
Imagine doing a push-up. Got it? Now, hike your butt up into the air, until your body forms an upside-down V. Keep your legs and arms straight, and your head between your elbows. (Hello, Dog? You had me at “push-up.”)
Inversions have been a problem for me before. I did a head-stand (yeah, I DID!) only a few years ago, during an Iyengar class. I had various bands and straps and blocks and braces holding me together, but the fact is, I got up and stayed up.
Then I came down and couldn’t move my neck. No more head-stands for me, said my chiropractor.
Well, this time, I modified my postures but continued doing them. Then, after escalating pain and swelling in my elbow, I attempted to use my curling iron and just like that, I couldn’t bend or straighten my right arm. (I know in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor problem. But try brushing your teeth with your unhandy hand. Try blowing your nose. There are limits to the level of spousal assistance I’m prepared to ask for.)
“Tennis elbow,” said the doctor at the walk-in clinic. “Take drugs and rest it.”
“Tennis elbow and golfer’s elbow,” said the massage therapist. “Ice it and rest it.”
“Hm,” said my chiropractor, digging his fingers around my medial and lateral epicondyles (buggered) and triceps tendon (buggered.) “I think the main problem,” he said, pressing the head of the ultrasound machine into the joint, “is olecranon bursitis.” Basically, if it’s in my elbow, it’s buggered.
The warmth and pressure felt good, so good, I let my guard down. “A little adjustment,” he added, just before whacking the joint straight with the heel of his hand. Did I mention that I can’t straighten or bend my arm?
“No more Downward-Facing Dog,” he advised, once the screaming stopped. Also, no more push-ups, no planks, no shoveling snow or washing my car by hand. (Rats.) No golf or tennis. (Darn it all.) No hand-holding, enthusiastic waves, or sudden pointing. (Fortunately, if I’m careful, I can type just fine.)
And as soon as I can, I’m going back to the hot room. Pop-Eye’s Elbow? No thank YOU.