As Victoria enters a five day lockdown designed to halt the spread of that dratted virus after its recent escape from a quarantine hotel, there’s a lot of kvetching going on.
Yes, it’s our third lockdown. Yes, we all saw this coming when the Australian Open was allowed to go ahead. Naturally, we’d all rather not. We’d all like to be able to do whatever we want to do. I know it’s inconvenient. I had to cancel my plans, too.
Still, there is nothing to be achieved by blaming anyone. Contrary to what some people like to say, our state government is not a dictatorship. They’re doing their best to manage a pandemic, balancing the health of the community with what millions of individuals perceive as their rights and needs.
The fact is, this virus is highly contagious, airborne and invisible. The pandemic is not yet over, and these things are going to happen from time to time. It may actually be a fact of life for the foreseeable future, even when we are careful about wearing masks, social distancing and sanitising everything. One of the fundamental truths of a pandemic disease is that it is not easily controlled: that’s how it became a pandemic in the first place. At best, it can be well managed.
At least it’s only five days this time, not months like the last one.
Even so, I have lost count of how many times I have felt the need to tell people to stop kvetching about it in the last 24 hours.
Kvetch is a wonderful word, donated to English from Yiddish in the mid-20th century. It is as satisfying to say as ‘bitch’ with far less possibility of offending anyone, and it is so much more expressive than other synonyms such as ‘whine’, ‘complain’ or ‘moan’.
Perhaps the only synonym that is as expressive is the one that my grandfather used when we were kids: “Stop your bellyaching,” I haven’t thought about that expression in decades, and it has just come back to me riding on a wave of memory and emotion. I think I’ll have to start saying that now, too.
Because the weekend was difficult, I stayed home from work on Monday, which was the third day after the procedure. I returned to school on Tuesday, and after spending most of the day on my feet, I was absolutely exhausted by the end of it. An early dinner and spending the evening lying down was a good strategy, as it gave relief to both my lower back and everything else that was hurting.
The injection site was progressively less tender as the week wore on, so was able to lie down and sleep on my back. As the steroids started to do their thing, I began to experience a lot less sciatic pain. I continued to have the consistent pain related to my fibromyalgia, but at least my butt and legs were no longer on fire.
That I began to see improvement on Monday and Tuesday was right on schedule for the time frame the doctor gave me – the injections would start working in 2-3 days and build up effect over the next couple of weeks. So far so good. Now, we wait to see how long that lasts.
The ESI hasn’t made any difference to my lower back pain – that’s not what the treatment was meant to do – but having the sciatic pain diminished makes a huge difference. I know how to manage my lower back and fibromyalgia pain. I can lie down comfortably for rest and sleep – and what a blessing that is!
The one-week verdict is positive. Despite the initial pain and discomfort, the procedure appears to have done what it was intended to do. If the sciatic pain returns, I’ll definitely have the treatment again.
Epidural Spinal Injection: One Week Later #spinalhealth #BackPain
I wrote yesterday about waiting to receive a CT guided epidural spinal injection to treat the constant lower lumbar and sciatic pain I have been suffering due to further degeneration of the disks on my spine.
I am sincerely touched and thankful for every message of support and encouragement that I have received since publishing that post.
In the light of the fact that there are some good medical sites available but relatively few “this is what it was like for me” posts to be found, this post is intended to address that imbalance.
When I got to the treatment room, I was provided a hospital gown and asked to change. I was able to leave my underwear on, so I wasn’t completely exposed.
I was then invited to lie face down/on my stomach on the Ct scanner table. The nurse and radiologist helped me to get as comfortable as I could, reminding me that I wouldn’t be able to move during the scans and injections.
Once I was settled, they did some test scans to give the doctor initial images to work with.
When the doctor came in and introductions were done, he proceeded to wash my lower back with iodine and prepare the injection site.
That was all completely fine until we got to the initial local anaesthetics. Knowing I couldn’t move, I gritted my teeth and made some indiscriminate grungy noises that communicated more than “ouch”.
Then came the insertion, at a precise location in my lower back, of the needle and cannula for the delivery of the rest of the injections.
“Just a scratch now,” said the doctor.
In response, I laid very still but made more ugly noises.
“How is that?” he asked me.
Showing significant restraint, I responded with “I’m not sure what scratches you, but it’s very different than anything that usually scratches me.”
He didn’t say anything, but the nurse and radiologist laughed at that, which I found rather satisfying: I may be lying prone and vulnerable while a very clever person with a tendency toward understatement sticks sharp, pointy things into my spine, but I’m still hilarious.
The radiologist scanned my back again to make sure the needle and cannula were in the right place, and the doctor proceeded to administer the prescribed anaesthetic and steroids.
In the course of the procedure, counting anaesthetics and steroids, the doctor made multiple injections . It wasn’t unbearable but it definitely wasn’t painless. I wouldn’t have wanted it to happen without the local anaesthetics, but I could still feel the injections.
After the procedure, I had to lie down with my upper body elevated for about 90 minutes before being declared able to go home.
The advice given to me before being allowed to leave was as follows:
Do not lie flat for 12 hours as nobody wants the anaesthetic heading north instead of south, which could cause significant complications.
When the local anaesthetics wear off, I would probably not feel both my original pain and some pain around the injection site. .
The injection usually takes 2-3 days to start taking effect. Full effect is generally reached after 10 days to 2weeks.
Rest for a couple of days to give things the best chance of healing.
The injection deals with the symptoms, not the actual degeneration in my back. I will still have the same limitations as before, but hopefully with a lot less pain.
I came home feeling quite tender and a bit jelly-legs, which I am told is normal.
I spent the afternoon and evening in my recliner with my feet up, changing the angle of the chair every now and then. I made sure I drank plenty of water, and that I got up regularly for necessary short walks.
I have experienced an increase in my fibromyalgia pain — which is a different kind of pain altogether from my back and sciatic pain, so it is easily distinguishable. Such pain flares are totally standard whenever my body experience stress or trauma. It’s fair to say that’s not helpful in the sleep department m, either.
Twelve hours later, the injection site is fairly painful , so lying on my back and trying to sleep isn’t much of an option right now. Some bruising is coming out, but I haven’t had any bleeding from the injection site. There is no significant swelling, redness or heat in the area, so I am assuming this is just par for the course and not anything I need to follow up.
It was a great relief to get into bed and lie down, albeit with an extra pillow, but even with my usual pain medication, sleep seems unlikely at this point. Not only am I a rubbish sleeper at the best of times, I have to lie on my back to sleep — I can’t ever sleep on my side or stomach because it’s just too uncomfortable for my back. So, 2.43am seemed like an opportune time to write an update post.
I am really hoping that I do see some improvement over the next couple of days, and that some consistent relief from pain is imminent,
I am writing this while waiting for today’s instalment of treatment on my problematic lower back and spine.
I’ve been having increasingly constant and aggressive pain in my back and sciatic pain in both my legs over recent months. I cannot sit, stand, or lie down without pain, which is both affecting everything I do and depriving me of sleep.
My neurosurgeon has prescribed an epidural injection of steroids into my back, done under CT scan guidance.
I know it is a treatment a lot of people have, but that doesn’t stop me feeling anxious about it. I am looking forward to the respite from constant pain, but it’s not a process I am looking forward to.
So, I am filling in the time by wondering about the meaning and origin of the word ‘epidural’. It’s a frequently used word in relation to one of the kinds of anaesthetic used during childbirth, and people generally understand that is blocks pain from the waist down, but that is not my circumstance. I’m definitely not giving birth today!
The Macquarie Dictionary definition, while accurate, was not entirely helpful.
Having looked up ’epidural’, I then had to look up ‘dura’. Just like that, I’m already learning things I didn’t know.
So, I can deduce that I am having an injection through the tough outer lining of my spinal cord.
To be honest, this research isn’t really reassuring me about the procedure at all.
According to Etymonline, the prefix epi- means on or above, and came into English from Greek. The term dura mater dates back to about 1400 AD, coming from the Medieval Latin ‘dura mater cerebri’ which translates to “hard mother of the brain,” a term which was borrowed from the Arabic ‘umm al-dimagh as-safiqa’, which means “thick mother of the brain.”
And so I wait, informed and still apprehensive of what is to come.
All I can say is I really, really hope this works.
Today, for reasons of my own that do not need to be shared publicly, this song is playing in my head.
Don’t get me wrong: I firmly believe in forgiveness. Even if the other person never knows I have forgiven them, it’s important for myself spiritually and emotionally to move on from carrying that burden.
That does not always mean I can trust them again.
Contrary to what the platitudes say, time does not heal all wounds and forgiveness does not erase the memory.
It is also important, both spiritually and emotionally, that I protect myself and those I love from harm. If that means not giving someone the means to damage me or my family again, then that is what I must do.
I can be civil without letting a toxic person into my life or my home. Those barriers are not coming down.
I can let others have a friendship or relationship with that person if they are determined to do so, but if I see that they are in danger of experiencing significant harm, I will speak up or stand between them if I must.
I know that many of my Christian friends and family would say that my forgiveness is incomplete. They might suggest I am not showing love.
I would argue that sometimes the kindest and forgiving thing you can do for a person is to stay right away from them. I would also argue that neither God nor the nature of forgiveness itself demands that one must become a doormat or a willing receptor of someone else’s malignity.
There are a handful of people about whom I have made that decision over the course of my life, and I am confident that in each situation, slamming that door firmly and permanently shut is the best thing I could have chosen to do about it.
Sometimes, you just have to leave certain people behind and move on.
Not Ready To Make Nice #forgiveness #selfcare #Boundaries
This tattoo honours my late father, my family, and my unique identity within it. My family’s surname is Dutch: Groenenboom, which translates to ‘green tree’.
I am thankful to be starting the new year by doing something to deeply meaningful. It is a positive way of acknowledging those who have passed, including my dad and my beloved cousin six months ago, those who remain and are still flourishing, and my connection to them all.
I spent months choosing the tree design, as there are myriad options available and many are gorgeous. I chose this one because it symbolises strength, beauty and grace. The maple leaf represents me, obviously— unique among the other leaves, but strongly connected and coming from the same source.
I am so proud that this symbol is now part of me.
The word tattoo is interesting because the one word has two completely different sets of meanings that have come from entirely distinct sources.
That makes it a homophone, a homograph, and a homonym all at the same time: as it is pronounced and spelt identically for each of its various meanings.
Traditionally sung on New Year’s Eve, ‘Auld Lang Syne‘ is a song about remembering the friends and loved ones we have known in the past.
For the first time in my lifetime of knowing this song, it brought tears to my eyes: not only was 2020 brutal in numerous ways, I knew I was not the only one who was painfully aware of missing a beloved someone. I was blown away by the realisation that this song is as much about grief as it is about wistfulness, friendships of the past, and happy memories.
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to min’? Should auld acquaintance be forgot And auld lang syne?”
Robert Burns, 1796
The song we sing now is part of a longer song written by the Scottish poet Robert Burns in the late 18th century. Sadly, though, many people sing it without really knowing what it means.
Auld Lang Syne is a sweet little Scots phrase that means ‘for old time’s sake’. It translates literally to “old long since”. This song was a reinvention of an older song. Burns wrote about his song in separate letters to different people:
“It is the song of the olden times, which has never been in print… I took it down from an old man’s singing.” “Light be on the turf of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment.”
Just as the original song was much older than Burns’ version, the words themselves are very old. Auld and lang both come from the Old English of the Anglo-Saxons, while syne dates to the 1300s.
It is a beautiful phrase to say: it feels nice in the mouth, and it sounds just lovely, especially when spoken with a Scottish accent.
From now on, when I hear ‘Auld Lang Syne’, I shall think of the wonderful people I have known and loved in my life, and of the happier times of the past, but I will also think of the beautiful words that have been passed down to use from auld lang syne, too.
I’d like to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a happier, more hopeful new year. Lang may yer lum reek.
Today, I am juggling the mixed emotions of finally reaching the end of a traumatic year, and knowing that the ticking over of a clock, or the turning of a page of the calendar, doesn’t actually make a miraculous, instantaneous difference?
What else does one do with all of that but turn it into a poem?
It’s December 31, 2020: Christmas is back in its box, And I’m ready to cheer For the end of this year Full of tragedy, heartbreak and shocks.
I’m not sure next year will be better After all, it’s only tomorrow, And if people don’t care For how other folk fare, We could be in for more sorrow.
Still, as this horrid year closes, I’m hoping for a reprieve: A little more joy, A lot more hope— That’s my prayer this New Years Eve.
ⓒ2020 Joanne Van Leerdam
New Year’s Eve, 2020 #NewYearsEve #newyearseve2020 #PoetsTwitter
In response to describing myself on Christmas Day as spoilt, one of my acquaintances corrected me, saying that the word I should have used was ‘spoiled’. Their intentions were good, I’m sure, but they were, to put it bluntly… wrong.
‘Spoiled’ and ‘spoilt’ are similar words that are easily confused with one another. Both come from the word ‘spoil’ which has a number of meanings of its own.
In the US, they use ‘spoiled’ for everything. That certainly simplifies things!
In the UK and Australia, however, the two variants of the word are used differently.
‘Spoiled’ is generally used as the past tense verb of ‘spoil’, although it is not incorrect to use ‘spoilt’ instead. Therefore, last week’s roast that has gone rancid, a sheet of paper that has had something spilled on it, and a natural landscape defaced by deforestation, mining or construction are most often referred to as spoiled, but can be described as having been spoilt.
Spoilt is favoured as the adjective for things that have been spoiled. Children — and occasionally adults — who have received too many presents for Christmas or a birthday, enjoyed too many indulgences, or experienced too little discipline in their lives are often said to be spoilt or, in excessive cases, spoilt rotten.
So, over Christmas, I could quite rightly describe myself as spoilt or spoilt rotten. Given that I looked, felt and smelled fine, I am confident that I wasn’t spoiled at all.