Another Setback. Because Apparently My Character Arc Needed More Depth.

Well. Apparently 70 is the age where your body starts submitting formal HR complaints.

A few months ago, I was training hard, golfing, getting ready for kayaking, strength training twice a week, going to group exercise classes, planning adventures, and generally acting like someone who had not read the official rulebook on aging.

And then… BAM.

Severe sciatica.
Bulging discs.
An extremely tight piriformis muscle.
A pinched nerve.
And the glamorous little bonus feature known as “foot drop.”

If you are unfamiliar with foot drop, it’s basically when your foot decides it no longer wishes to participate fully in walking. It just kind of flops around down there like an uninterested intern.

In hindsight, I am now convinced this had already started during The Race to Robie. I took a tumble during that race, and at the time I blamed uneven terrain, gravity, and possibly Satan himself. But looking back, I think the foot drop had already RSVP’d to the party.

The pain has been excruciating. Not “oh I slept funny” pain. More like “I would consider trading a kidney for five consecutive comfortable minutes” pain.

Current restrictions include:

• No golf
• No kayaking
• No lifting over 20 pounds
• Upper body workouts only

So naturally, my training sessions with Isaac are now referred to as “Isaac Light.”

It sounds less like a fitness program and more like a low-calorie salad dressing.

“Now available in Lemon Herb and Ranch.”

To make matters even more exciting, even walking — my emotional support activity — has been difficult because of the nerve issues. Some days I walk like a woman confidently striding through life. Other days I walk like I just got off a horse after a three-day cattle drive.

But years ago, a friend gave me advice that stuck with me:
“When it comes to your health, always be aggressive.”

And let me tell you something — I have been AGGRESSIVE.

I spent eight hours in the Emergency Room because I wanted a same-day MRI. I was not leaving without answers. At one point I think the staff assumed I had unofficially moved in.

The referral to a spine specialist happened quickly, and thankfully, I have a great doctor. After reviewing the MRI, he felt surgery was not necessary at this point. Instead, he recommended spinal injections and physical therapy.

Now. Let us discuss the magical process known as procedure approvals.

If you’ve never gone through this process, imagine trying to get permission slips signed by twelve raccoons wearing neckties.

I became the squeaky wheel. Daily calls. Follow-ups. Persistence. Pleasant but relentless energy.

Basically, I turned into a retired woman with unlimited minutes and a mission.

And honestly? It worked.

I now have a fabulous physical therapist who managed to get me in a full week before anyone else could. I admit that it made a huge difference that my husband already sees this physical therapist and absolutely raves about him. Sometimes connections matter, and in this case, I was very grateful for one. Between my spine specialist and physical therapist, I finally feel like I have a solid treatment plan and a team that genuinely wants me better.

Which is important because I need this fixed quickly for two reasons.

First: the pain has been unbearable, and the medications barely touched it. I really did not want to go the narcotic route unless absolutely necessary.

Second: I have been planning a huge adventure for almost a year.

Bucket-list level.
Dream trip level.
The kind of adventure you organize spreadsheets for.

And for a while there, it looked like this entire thing might get ripped away from me.

That part was mentally hard.

Harder than I expected, honestly.

When you are active and independent, injury doesn’t just affect your body. It affects your identity. Your routines. Your joy. Your future plans. Suddenly everyone starts saying things like “you need to rest,” which is deeply difficult for people whose hobbies include movement and mild overachievement.

But tonight — for the first time in weeks — I finally feel hopeful.

I think I’m going to be able to go on this adventure.

Will I be moving slower? Probably.
Will I be stretching my piriformis in foreign countries? Almost certainly.
Will I be carrying enough medications to open a small pharmacy? Also yes.

But I’m going.

And of course… I’ll blog all about it.