Lumbar Spondylolisthesis

According to my orthopedic doctor, I have lumbar spondylolisthesis. After seven months of almost unbearable hip pain, I'm not sure what I was expecting the doctor to say to me. Perhaps something along the lines of, "just a muscle spasm you weak baby, buck up and go get a massage!" Instead, he informed me my lifelong battle with lower back pain was the culprit of my mysterious hip pain, and my lower back pain was actually not just weak back muscles, rather Lumbar Spondylolisthesis, which essentially means that one of my lower vertebra is slipping over another vertebra causing pressure on the nerve.

Ok, so I'm thankful I don't have arthritis, or missing cartiledge, but I can't help being slightly down that it seems my body has a slight "Made in China by sweatshop babies" quality to it. Ironically, Lumbar Spondylolisthesis is quite popular among Asians.

The really good news is that my doctor isn't surgery happy. In fact, he's amazed at how well I've managed my pain (go yoga!) so we're going to try physical therapy. Words like invasive, removal, and fusion are still ringing in my ears when he spoke to me briefly about my surgery options. Oh, and the recovery time is a speedy 6-9 months.

For more information, and images of x-rays that look exactly like mine, visit:

http://www.drdillin.com/education/basics_lspondy.htm

Mopy out

New favorite racial remark

"Look out, it's plaid and shanghai!"

Comment made to Jonathan and me last weekend as we attempted to walk around a herd of frat boys.

Jonathan was wearing plaid. I guess I had that Chinese city look about me.

An incident with the chicken

Hmm, "an incident with the chicken" sounds like a book title. I'll have to keep it in mind when I write my life's work. On to the blog!

Last weekend I threw Jonathan a birthday party. Knowing that all invitees were bonified meat eaters, I bought 20 lbs of animal flesh (for grilling, not ritualistic sacrifice).

Allow me to digress. A few years ago, a friend of mine gradually became a vegetarian. Dinner by dinner, she began not eating beef, shrimp, pork, and then finally chicken. I didn't find out about the chicken until after I cooked a meal that starred the poultry beast. I guess I should have asked before inviting her for dinner, but dropping certain foods from ones diet isn't a point of discussion that comes up regularly when you live two hours away from each other.

So I had to ask why, had she decided to become a bonified vegetarian because of her love of animals?

Her response, "I was cutting chicken the other day, and I had an incident with the chicken."

"An incident...did it start walking again? Were there extra parts? wtf is an incident?" I asked.

She gave me one of those looks that screamed "back off". "Let's just leave it at it being an incident with the chicken."

So I left it.

Fast forward to last Friday, me in my kitchen with 20 lbs of meat before me. After cutting about 5 lbs of meat, I started feeling lightheaded. 5 lbs of meat later, my stomach began churning. All I could think about was the fleshy texture under my fingers, and the smell of raw meat filling my nostils. 5 lbs of chicken later, I had to shoo my cat away because I felt like I was going to hurl at any moment. The final 5 lbs of chicken, I knew it had happened -- I had just experienced an incident with the chicken.

I didn't eat much at the party, and I've been eating more veggies to supplement my lack of meat. I haven't sworn meat off completely, but I am certainly not forgetting my incident with the chicken anytime soon.

P.S. My blogger spell check doesn't know the word blog. How odd.

Dust

I'll go ahead and preface this posting with the following disclaimer, "yes I know I'm a freak."

I have completed the tedious task of dusting off my desk and all of its contents. Somehow anything I own or inhabit, regardless of age, accumulates about 1/8 inch of dust every month to the point when I shuffle papers around, mini-dust bunnies begin an odd rendition of "Swan Lake." I find myself looking at other people's desks, mentally comparing the dust amounts. I can't decide if I'm disturbed by how aware I am of their dust, or the fact that many people's desks seem to lack dust. I was in a friend's office the other day, and to my horror, their nick nacks were totally dust free. My compulsion drove me to run my fingers across quickly to confirm. My finger could not turn up even the tinest bit of lint. What gives?!?! Am I just a dust magnet? Is it my body wash? Have others struck a deal with the devil? If I took up bubblegirl life, would I mystify scientists by being the very first bubbleperson with dust in her bubble?

I wonder...

Remembering Greg

Today Greg Whitlock would have turned 35 today. I am sad, reflecting on my own selfishness that he's no longer with us. I find if still surreal that I just placed an order for a "memorial cake" for the dedication of the UGA Intramural Fields batting cages that were constructed in his honor.

Greg was one of the most sincerely good hearted individuals I've ever known. It was a privilege to know him.