Posts Tagged ‘bad knees’

Feeling Better

October 15, 2017

And almost through the weekend of classes.

The air quality improved substantially today.

So much better.

I have still had a low-grade cough, raw throat and tight and sore sinuses, but the air is better and tonight when I rode my scooter home I could take deep breaths and it felt so, so good.

There are still fires burning, but today felt like hope, that maybe there was an end in sight and that as the day passed things felt better and better.

I don’t know, I can’t predict a thing, but it was something to breathe better today.

The small things that I can take for granted, fresh air, good water, my home, it was with great gratitude that I drew those clean breaths of air, such goodness, just a big simple drawing in of air.

Ah.

I can feel my head ache easing and I know that the air quality has substantially improved.

This morning when I got up it was registering at unhealthy and there was ash again all over my scooter and a distinct smell of wood burning in the air, it was hazy and smudgy and smokey and my first class of the day was boxed up in a hot airless room.

But by the afternoon it started to shift and I left campus to grab lunch with a friend at The Market, the chi chi high-end grocery store in the Twitter building, they have a poke bar that I like to eat at if I’m going to blow a wad of money on lunch rather than eat the food that I brought with me.

I was happy to get out of the school building, the air felt fresher and it just continued to improve throughout the day.

So grateful.

So, so, so grateful.

And I’m also grateful that I only have one more class to get through tomorrow and that will put my squarely at the half way point of the semester.

I will have two more weekends of classes and then the winter break.

I’m doing pretty good, I’ve participated,  caught up on all my reading for this weekend, and I turned in the paper that was due for my Jungian Dream Work class.

I have a mid-term paper due on the 24th of the month for my Transpersonal class that I figure I will write the paper next weekend.

Then two more weekends of classes and I will enter the final semester of my Masters in Counseling Psychology.

Fuck.

I am doing this, I’m doing this, it’s really happening.

It’s been so much work and sacrifice.

I don’t always talk about that, the things that I have had to let go of to participate in the program while still working full-time.

I have given up going to birthday parties, out dancing, movies, fellowship, dates, dinner with friends, people and places and stuff that I used to do on a much regular basis.

It’s been hard.

I have felt sad when I have not been able to connect.

And yet.

I have spent so much time figuring out how to connect with people, with grace, with God, with service, with learning what I need to learn to better serve my community.

And.

Yes.

To have a fucking career where in I can make some money.

Oh.

I know, I’m not going to make a grand amount, but I am going to make so much more than what I make as a nanny, unless I get some super cush job, but the fact is, I’m ready to not be a nanny anymore.

I’ve a few more years and I’m fine with that, I still have miles and miles to go, but sure and steady, slow, one day at a time I am doing the work to get to the place.

And when I get there, well, there will be other places to go.

But.

For right now I am just really happy to be in my last year of the Masters program and to let myself be proud of what I have accomplished.

Showing up every weekend.

Turning in every assignment on time.

Straight A’s.

It’s awful nice to have a 4.0 average in grad school, just let me acknowledge that, I have a 4.0.

That’s something.

I have learned a tremendous amount about myself.

I have made dear friends.

I have a cohort, a group of peers, a community where I wasn’t expecting to have one, I have people who see me and regard me as an equal and who I get great feedback and validation from.

And I’m doing something that I don’t think anyone in my family has done.

I’m getting a Master’s Degree.

I could be wrong about that, I may have a cousin somewhere with one, but I can’t think of any off-hand, I don’t believe most of the people in my family have a college degree, let a lone a Master’s degree.

I feel pretty lucky that I have achieved what I have achieved and that I have put in the work.

Sometimes the sacrifices have seemed really hard, I have been lonely, I have missed experiences, but I also know that I am making myself into a woman with great potential to help and heal and that I will be of service for so many years.

I think I’ll have much more longevity as a therapist than a nanny, I’ll be able to practice as a therapist many, many, many years past the time when I would want to be a nanny anymore.

Hell, I’m pretty done with it as it stands.

Oh, not that I hate my job, I love the family  work for and I am so happy to get to do the work with them.

No, what I meant, is that my body is about done with it, my back is sore from carrying the baby in a carrier, my knees hurt, I have spent so many years being on my feet, from all the years, decades really, working in the service industry–started at 12 ended at 32, so that’s twenty years, and now the past eleven years or so as a nanny.

I could use a sit down job, thank you very much.

I once was having some real problems with my knees and I was young, in my mid twenties, and the doctor told me at that time that I needed to get out of the service industry, that I needed a sit down job, “your knees are that bad,” he told me showing me x-rays and explaining what the problems were.

I didn’t really heed that advice.

And I have managed to get by, sometimes a bit painfully slow, and I have seen things that have slipped past me that I wish I could still do.

No more running.

Not that I was a great runner, but I thought once or twice that I would at least do one marathon in my life

And dancing.

Oh.

Man.

I can tell how bad my knees are when I go out dancing, they are just not what they used to be, not that they used to be great anyway, but fuck.

Anyway.

I will go on standing for a little while yet.

I’m not there yet.

But.

Damn.

I am one more step closer.

I’ll take it.

Yes.

Yes, I will.

One little baby step at a time.

I will get there.

You may be assured.

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Information

July 23, 2016

Good information to have.

No judgements on myself or others, it’s all just information.

Like.

Second swing through date with guy from Tinder and no, there’s not chemistry, but, nice guy, and I’m glad the he was in town with friends, he’s an Oakland guy, and at a club near the surprise birthday party that I was at and he came by for a little while.

We cut a rug.

But I was pretty tuckered out.

And that was a clear sign to me.

When the allure of coming home was more than the allure of staying on the dance floor shaking it to a good dj with a guy who wants to dance with me.

Fact is.

My knees were sore and my feet were in agony.

I have fallen arches.

I were arch supports in my shoes.

It sucks.

It is what it is.

However.

The party I was at, the hosts asked that we all remove our shoes, which is great, hey, sure, no problem, except, that I realized I was standing and talking and dancing and walking around and exploring the house, it was awesome and cool and made me have hope of there still being bastions of interesting things in the Mission versus the white washing of condos that seems to be in heavy proliferation there.

So.

My feet hurt.

Like awful.

I go to the party at 9:15p.m.

I left at 1:30 a.m.

That’s four hours of being on my bare feet.

Of course there wasn’t chemistry.

I was in pain.

I’m in pain right now, but it’s not as bad.

That being said, no yoga tomorrow.

At least not the early morning classes.

I am going to let myself get a few hours of sleep, get up shower, meet my person at noon, do the podcast at one thirty, have coffee with a friend in the Castro then run over to Scooter Centre and have them show me how to inflate my scooter tires.

They are low and I noticed it last night.

My scooter seems real bouncy on the road.

I am sure that I could figure it out, but there’s a weird little bit of fear in me the first time I go to do something and I have never done it before, I just want to be shown how to do it and I figure I should also make an appointment for a tune up.

I haven’t done so since I go it in November and I have already put on 1,900 miles on it.

That’s what happens when you live 6.5 miles from work.

No wonder my knees are crappy.

Ten years of riding a bicycle in and around the city and the last five of it on a once speed that I had in fixed gear for three years before I flipped over my hub and went to free.

My knees are shot.

Let me not think about the years and years of being in the service industry and all that wear and tear and just the general bad way I took care of myself for so long.

It takes time to heal from some of that and some of that damage may be too far gone.

I’m ok with that.

I am an old lady.

Yeah, I know, I don’t act like that, although I am very old school about certain things, I am wearing bifocals, call them progressives all you want, I’m wearing bifocals and bitching about my fallen arches and sore knees.

Old.

My brain’s wide awake though and here I sit, decompressing from the day, the night, the drive by date.

I do think I’ll be canceling our coffee date on Sunday.

He’s nice, but I was just not feeling it and my time is precious.

I’ll sleep on it, but yeah, I think there’s not much there.

Friend though, I can tell that, definitely a nice guy and we discovered that we do in fact have a few friends in common.

And.

That leads to an interesting conversation I had with a gentleman tonight at the party, the who do you know game, the six degrees of separation from the birthday girl, and we ended up having quite the fun chat before the date showed up.

I even confided that indeed, a date was on the way.

We had fun chit chatting and flirting, there was definitely flirting and though I separated myself off to meet with the other guy who came by, I did happen to bump back into the gentleman who I had conversed with more.

He was in line waiting for the bathroom, which I had just used.

I told him I was going and he asked about finding me on facecrack.

I said, yes, absolutely find me on all things social media.

However.

There is an easier way.

“Do you have your phone on you?” I asked.

He pulled it out.

He handed it to me.

I put my phone number in it, called my phone, and then plugged my name into the contact field.

“Now you’ll know how to find me,” I said.

FYI.

I have never done that before.

And it was real easy.

Good information to know.

I think there was a quick hug, then I was gathering up all my things and scooting out the door.

To scoot on down the road.

To get home to my sweet, humble, cozy little abode.

I am so lucky to have such a full life.

Even if I miss yoga in the morning and don’t have quite the amount of sleep I’d prefer.

Oh!

And I may have procured a ride up to Burning Man.

Not back, which is what I figured would happen, one person up and another back, but hey, that’s half the battle, we’re going to talk next week and iron out details.

And my bike has a ride up.

Things are starting to fall into place.

They always do.

“Have you figured out Burning Man yet?” A friend asked me this evening on the sidewalk outside of Our Lady of SafeWay.

“Nope, but it’ll all fall together, it usually does,” I said and smiled, completely in faith that what I was saying was true, because, well it is.

“That’s what I like about you Carmen, you buy a ticket and you just go!” He smiled in wonder.

That’s called faith.

And I do have that.

I do.

And that is probably why I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I just need to have faith.

And I have it in spades.

Seriously.

Self-Care Stress

March 16, 2015

Oh the things I write about.

Oh the things I don’t write about.

Or the things that I don’t talk about.

Or the ways in which I have to do the things that I suggest to ladies that I work with.

In the spirit of so doing I confessed a few things today that I have not been doing so well with.

All of it comes down to fear and a lack of belief, still, a core lack of belief that I am unworthy of caring for myself.

The thing is, after ten years of doing this work, I know when the gig is up for me and I know when I don’t want to tell someone something, in effect, tell on myself, then there’s something to be worried about.

I was asked this afternoon over a nice roast chicken lunch with vegetables at the Firewood Cafe, when the last time I had gone to the dentist was.

I balked.

I stumbled.

I made some waving motion with my fork.

“Awhile.”

That was the best I could come up with and I don’t even want to write this down, I’m already seeing your face, and yours, and oh yeah, yours too, when I say, I have not been to see a dentist since I lived at 23rd and Capp Street.

Which means that I haven’t been to the dentist in oh, um, gah, six or even seven years.

Is that possible?

Ugh.

The real thirteenth step.

Going to the dentist.

I have really good teeth and I am really lucky.

And there’s nothing wrong with them.

I brush them three times a day and floss once a day with dental tape.

I don’t smoke, although I probably do have some discoloration from coffee, my teeth are really in quite good shape.

But my knees.

Not so much.

That was also something I did not want to talk about.

My knees have been bothering me over the last few weeks.

Years.

Forever.

But I have definitely noticed a more marked discomfort and sometimes absolute screaming pain that makes me literal gasp and tear up, when I am walking.

And once in a while when I am riding my bicycle.

Fear is ruling the life.

I am afraid, in no particular order, of not being able to ride my bicycle any longer, needing to have knee surgery, not being able to work, losing my home, not being taken care of, not being able to ride my bicycle.

I know I listed that twice, but that is a big fear.

So, like any good crazy person, instead of addressing the issue, I have been trying to skirt it.

Not wearing shoes that I now exacerbate the issue more than once a week.

AKA.

My Converse.

Which, grr, I don’t want to admit either, like I’m fucking super woman or something, hurt my left ankle when I wear them too much anyhow.

Like right now.

My ankle is sore.

I wore Converse yesterday and today.

And despite not riding my bicycle yesterday and taking MUNI, I could feel both my knees and my ankle hurting a bit by the end of my walk, a short walk, a dwadling walk, from the North Berkeley BART to the baby shower, about eleven minutes, and I was tender.

Same today.

But today I did ride my bike, to the Castro and back.

Sometimes I know that my legs, mostly my quads and occasionally my calves (they cramp at night, no fun) need rest from the constant riding.

Today, though, it was my ankle and I told on myself.

It took a minute.

But I did.

“Girl, are you trying to become your mother?” My person asked.

Oh sweet Jesus.

I am.

Damn it.

Let us not to bond over my accomplishments, but over my lack of self-care to my body.

Why?

Because that was how I was fucking trained, ignore it until you are in the emergency room in scathing pain.

Then, if it doesn’t interfere with work, then go to the doctor.

I looked him in his very blue, very compassionate eyes, and said, “no, I don’t want to become my mother, and I knew I didn’t want to tell you because then I knew I would have to do something about it.”

“What are you afraid of?” He asked, folding his hands and putting down the salad fork, giving me full attention.

“Oh geeze, where to start?  Um, that I won’t have enough money to cover what ever is wrong with me, that I will need surgery, that I will lose my job, that if I chose to go to the doctor I’m going to eat into my vacation time, thereby losing money, thereby, um, not being able to pay my rent, not be able to go to Burning Man, not be able to afford going to Atlanta, being homeless and destitute.”

I had no idea.

I mean.

I did.

But still.

“I suggest you make an appointment with your doctor, just a regular appointment, and tell her what you what you are experiencing, and not make decisions based on information that is not true.” He said, “capisce?”

“Yes.” I sighed, though, in relief.

I really have been wanting to deal with this, it does scare me, but I also know that running away from the problem, hobbling at this point, I can’t imagine running, that I will only make the problem worse.

There is probably a very simple solution.

Or not.

But I won’t know until I go.

I also have to ask about a patch on my face that I suspect might be skin cancer or pre-cancerous.

There, I let that cat out of the bag too.

I have a reddish patch of dry skin on my right cheek that won’t heal.

It will get dry, peel and leave red skin and I think it’s going away, then it does the cycle over again.

I over heard someone say to another person, “oh you should get that checked out, it could be pre-cancerous.”

Ugh.

I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered.

This patch of dry, reddish skin has not heeled in how long?

Too long.

I, more admissions, noticed it over a year ago.

I know!

I know.

REALLY.

I do.

I just didn’t really think anything of it until I overheard that conversation last week.

And yes.

I am doing plenty about it.

I googled dental student cleanings and I will sign up for that as soon as I see my regular doctor.

I made an appointment to go in and see her next Friday at Kaiser on Geary.

I’m doing the deal.

Even when I have to drag myself to do it, even when I don’t want to admit that I need help, even when I am in fear.

False.

Evidence.

Appearing.

Real.

I took some actions and I’ll be seeing the doctor next week.

Sigh.

Self-care you nagging whore.

I mean.

Self-care, you wonderful woman, look at how you are learning how to take care of the beautiful body that God has given you to walk around in.

At least, hopefully, for a while yet to come.

 


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