Sweet Strength

A year ago last spring after tests run, blood, mammogram, bone density scan, all were coming back normal, good. Except that one. It wasn't even mild. The phone portal report clearly stated I had severe osteoporosis. My phone is possessed right now, so I can't pull up the actual message.

I can pull up my memory of the reaction. I have crumbling bones, I cringed. I debated whether to take the Fosomax heavily recommended by my doctor. I walked with my health coach friend the next day, he had a book for me, but I had downloaded it onto my Kindle, already. He told me, do my research.

The dentist said it was OK to take it. I got the prescription filled. The price was very low. I decided to try, since the report showed I had very low density. I hoped.

The first week, I took it on a Saturday, by Tuesday, where my pins were for my femur surgery felt "funny." Stingy, maybe. I let the surgeon know. It had been over a year. He released me in November, but said, once, if the pins bothered me, they could take them out. I thought, 'No Thanks! No more surgery if I can help it.'

I wondered, do I need to go to a local orthopedic, do I need an MRI. They reassured me, I didn't need to do either. As any good nurse knows those words, "Continue to monitor it."

I took my second dose of Fosomax on the next Saturday. By the beginning of the next week, I felt shocks in my joints. That was the way I could explain it. Out of the blue, sometimes, just standing, a volt stung me. I couldn't say electrical, but something was not right.

If walking is the best weight bearing exercise and what I needed to do, I could not be jolted anywhere. On the stairs, that's how I fell. Out in the open with no help around would not do either. I put the two weeks together and decided with some family advice from sisters and a cousin- our mothers were sisters- so I feel this a closer relation, that, they, too, could not take the Fosomax. My cousin even recommended a supplement and her bone density improved. All female relatives confirmed this.

So I shunned sunblock and pursued the sun for at least twenty minutes a day. Not always an easy task in the Northeast. I endeavored to walk, sometimes using my walking cane. Often sitting on a bench to soak up that Vitamin D. Doctor and nurse practitioner shook their heads, as I shook mine at their other suggestions. I feel confident in my treatment. I won't know until next April when the two years is over and I can get the scan again. My blood work continues to be stellar. The family adult onset diabetes does not seem to be on the horizon.

In this initial shock of osteoporosis, I thought of Katherine. I thought of writing a story, but I had just finished my stories on Aunt Kate and felt it was too confusing. Also, I was punked out on writing, feeling a stagnation, a slug, I believe I called it.

Now, I feel I can share Katherine. It could be a Miss Story. Maybe read it that way.

I walked into the home the first time in August as I oriented with Katherine's home health nurse. If Katherine weighed eighty pounds, it wasn't much more. Rheumatoid arthritis wracked her body. She made her home in a three sided bed, with a rail for the open side. Bible verses covered the walls of her crib. A radio played a Christian radio station, night and day. Not Christian rock, but the old hymns, lots of Bible reading, teaching and prayer, comforted her.

Katherine couldn't move on her own. And with no adipose tissue that set her up for pressure sores. Nursing to monitor the wounds was the only home health ordered. Physical therapy had no call there, as any movement caused her great pain. Now, I'm thinking about it, she may have had a home health aid, but I can't say for sure as she had the private caregiver.

Katherine had various caregivers live with her. Her care was part of their rent. One had children that Katherine smiled at, a little boy sometimes playing quietly with his trucks on the floor. The husband maybe did the yard work and ran the errands.

I loved her, but I didn't like visiting her. Her regular nurse told me, "She has helped me in a lot of personal problems. I know she prays."

Katherine didn't complain, but with every movement, and we had to move her to get to the sores, she winced, a little sound escaped from her mouth. We always apologized, yet were frustrated. It didn't seem fair. Does any form of health care that hurts feel fair?

Katherine smiled when a nurse came in. I'm not going to lie, the biggest was for her nurse, but Katherine seemed to tolerate me. I didn't learn the nuance of moving her for minimal pain.

With "My bones are crumbling" in my head, as I remembered Katherine, I thought on her calm demeanor. She didn't complain with her solitude in her bed. In her room. Even getting up in a wheelchair had gotten too painful. She barely ate. She could only read what was on her 'walls.' She had the constant companion of the Christian radio station to direct her thoughts on God. They were always on God. She maintained quiet determination. She showed sweet strength that came only from her relationship with God. A visit to her provided solace to her nurse.