When Life Is A Pain In The Neck, Literally And Then Not
By C.S Gilbert
Dateline Key West, Saturday, Aug. 30, 2014. There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that I’ve discovered the ultimate cure for the curse of a crepey, turkey gobbler neck, a step up for . . . well, the culture of youth and beauty, also known as lookism and ageism. (Maybe more on that later.) The bad news is the cure involves a rather substantial necklace of sponge and Velcro that fits snugly under the chin and reaches to the collarbone, offering a nice ledge on which to rest my jowls.
The reason for the bad news is that yesterday I learned (via a stat MRI) the cause of the shoulder and neck pain that has been intensifying over the past few months: severe arthritic damage to the cervical vertebrae, if I got the terminology correctly. Dr. Bob Olson ordered a soft collar and physical therapy, for which I made an appointment for Sept. 11, an ominous day but the first appointment they had after 7:30 a.m. I am not a morning person.
The other bad news is that no one in the Keys any longer prescribes the only pain pills that have any effect on me. The other good news, on the other hand, is that the brace is a godsend. It’s 4 p.m.; I’ve been up since 8:30 a.m. and this is the first day I can remember in heaven knows how long that I haven’t been in some pain by this time of day. I’m going to see what happens if I take it off about 6; if that gets me through the evening, with assist of a cocktail or two, my only problem will be how to decorate it for dress-up occasions. One of the kids suggests sequins and a glue gun.
Update, a week later: by Sept. 5 I’m better. Much, much better. Since I awaken, in fact since the beginning have awakened without pain, the key to lasting relief seems to be to strap the damn thing on first thing in the morning, before the bathroom stumbling and coffee brewing. Remove to shower, of course, but continue to wear it whenever not in business drag (has anyone ever seen me in business drag?) during the workday, especially, I suspect, while working on the computer.
Fully confident and pain-free, I flew off (fully braced) on Sept. 6 to the wedding in Columbus, Ohio of the eldest of the six or eight male second cousins (or first cousins once removed; we couldn’t quite decide on the terminology) I think of collectively as “the baby cousins.” Larry, the first-time groom, is seven years younger than I, only two years younger than my “baby brother,” who turns 70 this week. It was worth the wait. Ellie, the bride, a rather younger woman with a 24-year-old art administrator daughter, is perfect—slim and blonde and pretty and grown-up and very, very nice. She also has a sister I hope I’ll see again at family gatherings.
The wedding was perfect: officiating were a Reform rabbi and Ellie’s pastor, a Lutheran woman minister, who sounded quite Unitarian Universalist to me. The most beautiful part was the traditional benediction. The flutist (can we really say that now, instead of flautist?) played a line of soft music; the rabbi pronounced the blessing in Hebrew, the pastor offered it in English, thus: music, Hebrew, “May God bless you and keep you; music, now continuing very softly under their words, Hebrew, “May the presence of God’s blessings always shine upon you;” music, Hebrew, “May God’s face ever be turned to you and bring you peace.”
Upshot: I can remain painfree for several hours—probably more, if I’m careful. Or maybe it was just the psychological/emotional high of a wonderful wedding.
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