I received an email today, June 27th, from Carl Haynie, referencing an article in the team blog written by our own Erin McPeak; an invitation to read and experience through another person, what kind of existential earthquakes can occur when swimming is stripped from our lives.
To put it mildly, it resonated.
Though my experience is painful and unique, it in no way supersedes or diminishes what Erin went through. The mind can be a lonely, desperate place when events in one’s life become harrowing. And pain, the nemesis that has become a companion to me, only fueled that.
But not anymore.
With COVID and the closing of the pools, at first what I thought was a respite, a brief opportunity to dry-land train. Three months and I’d be back in. Right!? When that didn’t happen I looked into open water swimming; which I did for about three weeks. It was too cold and my escapade into finding a wetsuit that fit, frustrated me. I Gave up and turned to my second favorite sport; golfing.
And I had a ball for five months.
But the water called me back. So back I went 5 months ago. January 12th to be exact. Five days after my first COVID inoculation. Healthcare workers had first access and I jumped at the opportunity. It was that or retire. And I just wasn’t ready to retire yet.
That sentiment lasted about three weeks.
Funny thing happened on my first day back in the water; it was imperceptible to me at the time. My piriformis muscle on my left side went into spasm.
What the heck is the piriformis muscle, you ask.
It originates on the sacrum and inserts on the trochanter of the femur. Halfway between, underneath the piriformis, is the Sciatic nerve, artery and vein in a bundle. When the spasm occurred it felt just like a very tight muscle in my left buttock. I got up the next day and it was still there. I figured I just needed to swim again to work it out but, too late. Mind you, I only swam 500 very easy yards that first day and the same the second.
By the third day, 400.
By the fourth day I was in real pain. I had sciatica down my left leg and my gluteus in my left buttock felt like I had a charley horse, a real bad one. And just behind my left knee the same.
No more swimming.
I tried stretching, walking, hanging upside down and laying down. It got worse. I had told my 97 y/o mother, who lives in Tacoma, that I would take her to a dermatologic surgery appointment a week later, so I took ibuprofen and gutted through that; trying not to let on what misery I was in. It worsened and soon I was taking ibuprofen constantly. It felt like my leg was going to explode from within. My toes were numb, the side of my foot was numb as well as my heel and I could not sit without great discomfort, even on meds. And my foot was swollen like a person with early congestive heart failure.
I saw my primary physician. She diagnosed it as Piriformis syndrome and explained it all to me. She wrote a prescription for a muscle relaxant but warned me on what was to come; possibly months of pain and suffering. I tried to gird my loins but it hurt too much.
She also wrote a prescription for physical therapy.
I called PT immediately when I got home. I had to wait through six days of pain but everyone told me that it would help. Unfortunately, during the wait, the meds I was taking (muscle relaxant) caused huge problems with my prostate and in the middle of the night one day, I couldn’t void my bladder. Part of the problem was just standing there at the toilet was very painful. And I couldn’t sit; that was worse. My wife was babysitting grandkids so I drove myself to the ER there at Swedish, Edmonds and was catheterized. And you know, it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. I think mostly because it was a relief just to be empty but also, the constant pain from the piriformis changed my perception of what “uncomfortable” was. And the best part: I didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night anymore.
But what about PT?
They said “come on down!”
When you’re wearing a Foley catheter, you get your own room, so that was special. My gal was very sympathetic to my plight and tailored three basic stretches that, over time, would help. More appointments were made.
A day later I saw my Urologist and he gave me a drug that helped me and I went back two days after and they removed the catheter. But! I had to have the prostate surgery I had been putting off for years.
During this time I had been regularly checking on my folks (father is 97 y/ o and confined to a wheelchair w/ catheter) and updating them on my travails. Even my Dad was impressed.
My Mom, though, sounded different. A little weak or tired.
Surgery was planned for three and a half weeks hence; the 24th of February. Surely during that time the Piriformis would improve. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. And worse, ten days before the surgery, my Mom was admitted with pneumonia to a Lakewood, Tacoma hospital near their house.
I stop and pause, here, because I am recollecting the worst week of my life.
Quickly my Mother’s condition deteriorated. From an active albeit 97 y/o that still drove a car and cared for my Father to a patient that was administered last rites by her Catholic priest took all of five days. So my week went like this: attended last rites for my Mom with Dad and the Priest and saying goodbye through tears to the woman I owe so much to. That was Wednesday.
Pre-op with the Urologist was Thursday.
Back down when my brothers arrived from Idaho and Oregon on Friday (as the medical Power of Atty and executor I had to make decisions about who could go in and visit as only 2 per day were allowed as well as other duties).
She passed on Saturday.
I had a pre-op COVID test on Sunday.
A PT appointment for piriformis (that continued to rage) on Monday and an MRI for my lower back to rule out disc problems (the numbness and swelling confounded the doctors) on Tuesday. Wednesday was the surgery (which was delayed until 5 PM).
I am going to tell you right now, I was not in a good place mentally about this time. We have a park that our property abuts. The entrance is a ways away. I was having such problems sleeping that I was averaging 3-5 hours a night. I would wake up at 2:30-3:00 in pain and go for a walk in the pitch dark, through that park hoping coyotes would put me out of my misery or, better yet, drug addicts would bludgeon me to death. I actually convinced myself that I believed this.
Until one time.
I had passed through the park and was heading back. I heard voices in the absolute blackness.
My heart raced.
I feared! I mean for my life!
I had been lying to myself. I didn’t want to die!
I carefully backed up and took a different path out.
When almost out, I heard the voices again and looked back. Some sixty yards away was an old couple with a dog. For the first time in a while, I chuckled to myself. Seriously, it had probably been over a month since I had smiled. Just ask my wife.
Anyway, I wish I could say that this was the end of my ordeal but alas, it was not.
As I healed post-surgically, my piriformis showed small signs of improvement and my prostate was great. Funny things happen, though, when you have two months of little activity. Suddenly I was waking up at 1:30 in the morning with brutal shoulder pain.
Really!!
What next!!
Is god sitting up there with a magnifying glass entertaining himself!!
I saw my primary again, the day before my 3 week post-surgery prostate check and 10 days after burying my Mom. She brought the Orthopedic surgeon’s PA in and he checked out my shoulder.
Another MRI!!?
This one was painful for 27 minutes as I laid against their little plate in the tube.
Three days later I met with the Surgeon.
I hate good news, bad news deliveries.
The good news was that I didn’t require surgery. He said I could have the surgery but the recovery and outcome would be the same. All my shoulder problems stemmed from the fact that I played baseball and over-did for 12 years.
Then I swam and over-did for 20 years.
Oh, and in between all that I played racquetball and overdid it for 6 years. Oh, and I coached baseball for 10 years and really overdid the batting practice pitching; my right shoulder getting so bad at one point that I learned to throw lefty.
I never said I was bright.
Anyway, adhesive capsulitis aka “frozen shoulder”. Prescription for the same physical therapist (I’m on her Christmas list now and she’s on mine) and get going, as in don’t delay cause each day it worsens. It was early in all this that our illustrious COB, Thomas Walker e-mailed me. That was late January. When he checked on me again and heard the new developments he said “we better chat”. And talk we did.
His words: “Get back in that water!”
It was March 27th.
Mountlake Terrace pool is a miserable workout pool. Too warm. 88 degrees! But great for rehab.
First day back I walked 6 lengths forward and 2 lengths backward. I attempted to swim but my range of motion was so poor that I’m not sure what I looked like but man, was it painful. I swam maybe a half lap overall.
The last 90 days have been a tumultuous foray into some crazy world I did not know existed. It took three weeks before I could do a single lap all at once. I am not embarrassed to tell you I know what it feels like to cry inside goggles.
Now!?
I swam 1500 yards yesterday. I swim every day I can find a pool. My day starts at 4:30 am with PT for 75 minutes. Then I walk a mile and a half (not through the park). I swim after that. At noon I do my second round of PT. Stretch cords and pulleys litter two rooms in my house. A medicine ball and an inverter are in my garage.
It’s a ton of work, but I’m making it.
What’s my motivation?
I kept having this dream: there was a knocking at my door in the middle of the night. Not a doorbell; a staccato rapping. I would get up bleary-eyed and go to the bedroom across the hall that allowed a vantage to peek out. In the dark, looking through the side window of the door was the grim reaper. He never saw me but I saw him.
It felt like he was close.
In reality, he wasn’t; but to one’s mind, when crisis after crisis comes at you, it seems that way. And the pain, holy bejeezus, the pain.
During this time of COVID I lost a very special friend that many of you know and know well; Dawn Jaeger. I lost another friend to lung cancer and a friend of ours beat non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. My wife’s oldest sister is close to death as we speak. And of course, my venerable Mother.
I know that equating my battle with any of those life and death battles is wrong but I can’t help it. It seemed like it was close.
My left leg is still partly numb and my foot feels like when you’re coming out of dental anesthesia.
My shoulder is coming around, albeit slowly.
I can pee across the room now; well, not really. I have to get up and walk across the room first but there is great improvement there.
I was not really threatened by death, it just felt that way. And this has changed me. I quit taking any pain meds five days after my prostate surgery. I haven’t had any, not even an aspirin, since. I have done more meditating during these 5 months than in my entire previous life.
I’m going to repeat it: This has changed me; changed me so profoundly that I don’t fear death anymore. I know I can handle it whenever it comes. And it has changed my view on life and what I hold dear.
Hey Nietzsche!
I understand now.
What doesn’t kill you, does make you stronger!
Thank you so much to Tom Walker for reaching out and motivating me. And thank you to Erin for inspiring me to write this cathartic composition. And it wouldn’t be fair to not thank my wife for steadying me at my lowest and most difficult moments.
This is one TWIM swimmer that will be back. It may be later rather than sooner but I am coming.
You hear that Mr. Underbrink?
Someday in the not too distant future, we will have those 200 breast head-buttings once again.
I’m not praying for it; I am grinding my way to it. . . and enjoying every second of every moment along the way. Even if it hurts. The pain. . .it tells me I’m alive.
Go TWIM!!
~ Scott
