Is It Time to Say Sayonara?

Can't wait to be with our Utah crew in Saint George, Utah. (Picture taken 2015)

With Mothers' Day approaching, I have been counting down the days until my annual Mother/Sons hike, especially knowing that this year's hike would include my husband, daughter, and daughter-in-law. We'll all be in Utah together in a couple of weeks; that just doesn't happen often enough.

Dylan and Bridger, Gunlock Canyon, 2015

My boys have lived in Utah all of their lives, and have treated me to a special day of hiking with one or both of them during the spring for the last few years. This year, Chuck, Sisi and Jamie are planning to join us. It had been looking like Chuck and I weren't going to make it to Utah until summer, so I was very excited to find out we were going to see all of my kids Mothers' Day weekend.

The last time we were all together was January 2017, hiking through the urban canyons of Chicago.

Just a week ago, I was reminded of an exchange between my mother and myself about my love of hiking. Basically, she told me to enjoy my outdoor activities as much as I can because we just never know when our bodies won't allow us to be full participants in the things we love to do. I nodded at the memory, thinking, "Yeah, yeah. At least I don't have to worry about that yet." I couldn't imagine saying goodbye to hiking; not this young.

Even though lately, my bum knee has been bummier than usual, I had high hopes it wouldn't prevent me from hiking. I tore the MCL during a downhill skiing accident a few years ago, and during my medical examination, the surgeon informed me I have arthritis, and would probably need to have knee replacement surgery within the next few years. I was flabbergasted. 

Happy New Year! 2013. BEFORE I took my first tumble. 

What was he talking about? My knees didn't even hurt. Well, except when I hyper extended my knee cartwheeling into a snow bank, and then did the same thing the next year to the other one when I tumbled down the slopes. Other than that, I had had no knee pain. I figured I just needed a second opinion.

In an attempt to put my fears to rest, I went to a rheumatologist. Dr . Mathews was just what I needed. After extensive testing, he informed me I did indeed have arthritis, an auto-immune disease called Sjogren's syndrome. We did not discuss surgery. He has helped me manage my symptoms with a prescription for a daily low-dose anti-inflammatory, and a series of knee injections to build up some cushioning. I honestly haven't seen him for about four years, and haven't had any problems. Until a couple months ago.

Since it had been several years, and my knee had started to hurt, I made an appointment with a rheumatologist in Illinois. She must be a pretty good doctor; she was booked four months out. In the meantime, I bought myself a knee brace, and I have hobbled around with periodic pops and little jolts of pain, but for the most part, it has been very manageable. I'll be glad when July gets here to see how the doctor can help me.

While I have been dealing with my knee, my heel decided to go wonky on me. Luckily, I have a high threshold for pain, and as long as I wear shoes, and walk carefully, my heel seems to be doing well enough. Chuck jokes that I have a hitch in my get-along these days. 

Last night, right before Chuck got home, I was doing my mad dash to tidy up the house. When I heard the garage door open, I thought I would be able to toss a box into the recycling bin in the garage, run back into the house, and make up the bed before Chuck walked in the door. 

My bad. I was barefoot, and as I leapt inside the door onto the ball of my foot, I felt a searing pain in my heel that sent me crashing into the couch. Taking slow, deep breaths, I stood up, keeping my weight off my right foot. I was doing a horrible job making the bed when Chuck walked in. Defeated, and in more pain than I wanted to admit, I hobbled over to him to welcome him home, and just have him hold me. 

Look at me now; knee brace on my left leg and Ace bandage and ice on my right foot. Of course, I've been trying to self-diagnose my condition with the help of Google. I know I'm not the only one of us who does that.

Mother's Day Hike 2016

Anyhoo, I'm trying to do whatever I can to make sure I get to go on my hike. While I'm waiting the suggested 72 hours to determine if I need to go to the doctor, I've narrowed it down to two things. My heel is either bruised, or has plantar fasciitis. Since more than one of my Google sources recommended the P.R.I.C.E. therapy for both conditions, I'm trying that: Protection, Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. 

Chuck took care of the puppies during the night so I wouldn't have to take them outside, and he is working from home today to take care of Bristol, Sam, and me. I can get from Point A to Point B on my own, it just takes me longer, and it hurts like a son of a gun. Luckily, I made a big pot of chili yesterday, and we were already planning on pizza tomorrow night, so Chuck won't have to be bothered with making suppers. 

I hope I'm pouring sand out of my shoes in a couple of weeks.

Wish me luck. I have less than two weeks to heal before hiking. My mom was right; she usually is. I really hope I get to keep doing the things I love a lot longer. I'm not ready to say sayonara to hiking just yet!

Snow Canyon, 2013.