Not a Sexy Life

Ahhh, that feels good. SURYA NAMASKAR; it’s the sun salutation. First comes the mountain. Breathe in cool morning mist. Reach up and greet Sol. Smile as you take in the warm vapor. The fold you make of yourself keeps – Ahhh breathe – keeps you floppy. Flow up, HELLO AGAIN; your breathing rhythm paces you. You become a stalwart plank, instilled with rigid air flow. Then skulk near the ground, plank, almost a dog, breathe dog – The dog rears up, a bowel – filling deep breath. The dog bends down, and air bends still. And, near the end, you slide up with a breathing. ANOTHER FLOPPY FOLD? Your slow breath calms you. And once again, wave upward towards your next breath. Before we reach the mountain’s top, ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Wow, that felt good. I’m relaxed now for my morning shower. Before I started my pre – shower yoga routine, I was feeling very anxious about falling. It’s that simple. I’m old and I’m afraid of falling. But I’m lucky now - checking myself out in the mirror before I step over the tub rim – I’m lucky, because I’ve moved into a place with lots of safety precautions. A fall won’t be easy here. Why am I so worried about falling at my age? Kids don’t seem to linger in torment after a fall; I envy that. My son had his first formal photo made, soon after he had started walking. His mother was NOT pleased that, immediately before we were to drive to the portrait studio, he earned his first forehead booboo - his forehead kissed the sidewalk near the car! But after a few minutes of whimpering and first aid, off we went to be immortalized in film. Off I go: my steps inside my shower are flat – footed, steps that my wife called the “Sanibel Shuffle”. She said, you learn when vacationing in Gulfside Florida, to shuffle your feet over beach sand to go into the water. It helps you avoid stepping on horseshoe crabs, and inside the shower I turn to reach the soap. I shuffle slowly and carefully, to avoid stepping on the inner shower liner.

My ace – in – the – hole during shower times are the three – 3! – grab bars, one on each wall of the enclosure where I was scrubbing vigorously. Feet Sanibel flat; breathing slow and even; talking to myself quietly, because the acoustics are so good. Feet flat, knees slightly bent, posture erect, my hands working from arms to chest to abdomen to legs to feet. I was reminded by a TV comic the other night that white people don’t wash their legs and feet, so here goes the scrub while I hold a grab bar for balance. Between the toes Our old apartment had two grab bars, put in by my brother – in – law when his mother was coming to live with us. Mother – in – law was newly admitted to hospice. A hospice nurse was on duty the evening when Betty came to live with us. Betty didn’t make it through that first night. The grab bars remained.

I rinse off my torso and limbs, again holding to one grab bar. Lathered hands scrub my face and ears and scalp bordering my shrinking hairline. The moderate pressure I used to rinse my forehead made it impossible to miss the numb spot along my left brow. The warm spray on that forehead spot felt good. I reminded myself with a whisper to slightly arch my back, my neck straight. My memory was strong for that day. Could I have predicted what happened? Had I been at risk? While I was in the hospital, I ran through a list of risk factors. Was I – • Over 65? Yeah, I couldn’t do anything about that. • Carrying more than 3 diagnoses? Only hypertension. • Had I fallen in the last 3 months? NO. • Was I incontinent? NO. • Having a vision problem? Not at all. • Having problems moving? No. • Exposed to environmental toxins? No. • Taking at least 4 medications? No, only 1. • In pain? Not at all.

I had four appointments that day, as well as a physical exam with my primary doctor. In hindsight, a stupid bit of scheduling for the doctor visit – not seeing the doctor until 1 pm, and I had to go without food or drink till then. After I was done with the appointment and the blood draw, I grabbed something to eat and resumed my schedule. The third patient seen, a cup of coffee for some energy, and off to the fourth. Now scrubbing my hair; reaching down to the tub corner for the shampoo bottle, lifting my hand that held the dollop of shampoo, then conditioner in turn, and keeping my feet flat, my knees bent, my neck erect through the wash and the rinse. Then they found me. They found me, the paramedics, lying on the pavement in front of my fourth and final assignment – passed out in front of a senior living community. I really loved that sweater the paramedics had to cut off me, but it was bloody from the gash on my left forehead. A bleed on the left side of my brain was another mark on my safety record – luckily it had disappeared within two days, and I could go home. Now I’m home, practicing moving slowly, thinking slowly, so I don’t fall again. With a light grip on the back grab bar, I step out slowly, planting my foot firmly on the floor, knee bent to transfer my center of gravity forward. I’m moving forward. Toweling off before the mirror, I know I have to count my blessings. My background in healthcare helped me understand that, if I pay attention to my posture; how I use the balance sensory nerves in my ankles, my hips, my neck and my ears; how to move in a chaotic space; and how to keep my muscles, joints and my spirit in good shape, I’ll get through every day as best I can. Slow thinking, slow moving; it’s not that sexy a life, but a safer one.