quality of life…lil’ ole’ lady from pasadena

 (SeniorCitizen.jpg)

I think all seniors will agree that as we age we become increasingly aware that the thing we most value, next to loved ones… is quality of life. Without it we’re sitting on the sidelines watching others, and life, pass us by. What gourmet chef wants to be served, rather than preparing the gastronomical feast herself? What athlete wants to be sitting in the bleachers, rather than feeling the rush of adrenalin as he crosses the finish line? What writer wants to read, when she can put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard?

I’ve come to realize how valuable it is for me to participate in all that daily living offers, rather than just to observe. How I would envy those who could leap from bed, energized to get moving…washing the sleep from their eyes…donning their duds…scooping yogurt mixed with blueberries into their mouths…crouching down to snuggle a precious grandchild or a beloved pet…bounding out the door for a brisk walk amid falling leaves…waving and smiling at neighbors or strangers. Fortunately I can still do all these things, despite setbacks now and again.

Through the years, I’ve watched, listened and learned from my ballerina daughter. She has taught me much about the mechanics of my body and what I need to do to keep it humming along. There are things I can do like eating more healthily (a struggle), exercising (also a struggle), and putting myself in the hands of experts when necessary (a pleasure).

Having recently suffered severe back pain, the onset of which began over a month ago, I am now almost fully recovered. No pain…nada. Thanks to my chiropractor and her trusty adjustor, I can walk, sit, bend, and climb without wincing. And having just seen the physical therapist yesterday, I can already feel the results of the back-strengthening exercises she recommended.

Ford Mustang Convertible

Image by kenjonbro via Flickr

I feel like a broken-down Volkswagon Beetle that went in for an overhaul and drove out…a vintage Ford Mustang! Vroom, vroom, vroom!!!…

…i’m the little old lady from pasadena…go granny, go granny, go granny, go………hugmamma.  😉

for a mom, good therapy

Am still thinking about my daughter’s difficult circumstances to do with her broken hand. I’m sure moms can relate to the feeling of total inability to do anthing, except offer support and encouragement. If I could let her have the use of my right hand, I would. That’s a no-brainer. But it’s her hand, her life, her experience, her emotional growth and maturation.

Rather than worry about my daughter who’s beginning her journey back to recovery, I decided to devote some thought to two other young ladies, one whom I just saw today, and another whose story I read in our local newspaper.

Jennifer, my 28-year-old massage therapist, is an old soul. After seeing her for over 2 years for various aches and pains, mostly chronic fibromyalgia, I’ve come to trust her very capable hands. Her petite 5 foot stature belies the strength she brings to her massages. But as with most practitioners of alternative health, Jennifer is good therapy for my spirit as well.

In the hour we’re together, we cover many subjects of interest to both of us. They all fit under the umbrella of life lessons, it seems. Funny that she in her 20s, and me in my 60s can find so much common ground. I think it’s because she puts great stock in old-fashioned values, like working hard to achieve her goals, and prioritizing her life around her family’s health, including growing her own produce, and her love of animals, including caring for horses in her spare time. 

Cover of

Cover of The Permanent Pain Cure

At the moment, Jennifer is also working towards her certification in becoming a myofascia-release specialist. It is a form of therapy which involves the patient in the massage process. I am a firm believer in this alternative health practice after my daughter’s strained groin muscle was cured at the hands of a New York physical therapist trained in myofascia release. Ming Chu wrote The Permanent Pain Cure, which I’d read hoping it would provide the relief my daughter needed, and it did. Or rather, Chu did. 

After spending thousands of dollars toward her certification, and many hours of studying, which also includes hands-on work, Jennifer will be ble to give her clients an even higher level of relief from pain. Anticipating doing this, has her so excited. But for now she’s focused on the training that still lies ahead…an uphill climb, I’m sure she can tackle.

North Campus, Brigham Young University

Image via Wikipedia

Two things struck me as relevant about the story of Rachelle Dotson. The 21-year-old is the only female from North America serving as a Mormon missionary. She requested a mission after graduating from Brigham Young University in 2008. Having studied Japanese in high school, Rachelle was sent to Japan, and was stationed 12 miles north of Sendai when the earthquake hit.

Rachelle reminded me of 3 nephews, Mormons, who served as missionaries when they completed high school. The eldest, James, spent a couple of years in Costa Rica; Tyler was in Mexico the same length of time, and the youngest, Logan, did his mission in Mongolia. I am in awe of these young people who dedicate their lives to serving others for a period of time. They don’t proselytize about their faith. They live alongside the village people doing whatever they can, and demonstrating their Christianity by example. I can imagine my sister and brother-in-law’s concern for their sons while they were away from their family. They did not, however, suffer the anxiety that befell Rachelle’s parents as they waited to learn their daughter’s fate following Japan’s natural disaster.

Kelli and Robert Dotson watched their TV in horror as events in Japan unfolded before their eyes. I can only imagine what ran through their minds. I know I would’ve been a basket case. So I was moved to read that as an after-thought, Kelli wished she’d gotten an address when her daughter had sent a brief message the week before indicating she had settled in after moving from Koriyama to Sendai. All they could do now was wait for news from Rachelle, which took 2 days to arrive.

“I’m well,” her note began, comforting her family. She then recounted her experience.

She and her companion (a girl from Tahiti) were riding their bikes when they heard the earthquake. Dismounting, the earth then shook beneath them.

“Cars beside us were bouncing and the canal on the other side was sloshing 10 feet,” she wrote. She and her companion “crawled into a field, hugged eath other and prayed.”

 

Japan Earthquake & Tsunami Damage (03RTR2JTXC)

Image by Kordian via Flickr

Waiting for further information, however, was agonizing for the Dotsons. Thoughts of her daughter suffering were especially difficult for Kelli, “until she was inspired by memories of Rachelle on her fourth-year girls’ hike.” They brought peace and comfort to her mom remembering how her daughter had “carried her 40-pound pack on her back, and her partner’s on her front, so that they could continue on without rest breaks.” Kelli realized that Rachelle “was a strong woman–physically, emotionally and spiritually,” and that she would not be a victim, but would be helping the victims instead.

Evidently Rachelle had grown very fond of the Japanese elderly, loving them as family. So she was understandably distraught at not being able to reach her dear friends, and remain to care for those in need. Although the missionaries have been evacuated from the area, Rachelle continues her work in Japan, not scheduled to return home until December 22. Meanwhile, she assures her parents she wants for nothing. But she has learned one thing as the result of her experience.

“She carries a lot of food and water with her wherever she goes…and has a bag packed of clothes ready to go at any moment.”

Rachelle told her mother she knows it’s not necessary, but she can’t help it.

So when I think of my daughter and her misfortunes, I’m reminded of others like her who are wending their way through life, with their own challenges. They’re all learning, and growing, and gathering life experiences that will serve them as they grow older…and wiser. That brings me some measure of serenity.

in the eye of the hurricane…calm…hugmamma.

 

just when you think…

 

Swan Lake ballet

Image via Wikipedia

My daughter’s had her share of frustrations these last 7 months or so, beginning with having to take a medical leave from her job as a dancer last Fall. That caused her to miss the first performance of the season, Swan Lake, as well as The Nutcracker. Resuming dance in January, she was able to perform in her company’s winter series, “Director‘s Choice,” where she had some nice parts, soloing in one piece, “Postcards from the Boys.” She was also able to dance small variations for the annual Ballet Ball fundraising event.

10.11.22 Carmina Burana fascinó al público en ...

Image by Gobierno de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires via Flickr

After a 2-week break, she was happily back to work, rehearsing for the upcoming performance of “Carmina Burrana,” the last of the company’s season and a powerful work that includes an adult choir, and a children’s choir, singing along with a full orchestra. The music serves as an inspiring backdrop for the dancers. I’ve seen another company dance the piece, and came away emotionally spent. That’s how tremendous the effect is with the combined efforts of musicians, singers, and dancers flowing from the stage towards the audience. My daughter so looked forward to all the dancing she was prepared to do.

Multiple fractures of the metacarpals (aka bro...

Image via Wikipedia

Yesterday I was shocked when my daughter called and said she had broken her right hand, below the ring finger, continuing down towards the middle of her palm. Falling from a stance on tiptoes, she, and the other dancers, were enacting a move that resembled their having been shot from a cannon. Evidently my daughter’s fall happened quicker than she expected, so her hand hit the floor to brace herself, and took the full weight of her body. She heard a “crunch,” and knew something was askew. Getting up, she immediately knew she’d broken something for she had no feeling in her hand. A visit to a walk-in clinic confirmed her suspicions when an xray was taken.

While she waits to see the orthopedist on Monday, my daughter has much to reflect upon, the physical pain being one. But for a dancer it doesn’t end there. She must now regroup mentally and emotionally. At 25, she’s better equipped to handle such occurrences without being devastated. In her younger years, especially as a student of dance, these setbacks were more difficult to rationalize. Now that my daughter is a professional, having proved herself, and being valued for her contributions to the company as a whole, she can deal with being sidelined better. Not that it’s easy; it’s never easy. Not being able to dance for 3 or more weeks is sheer torture for a dancer, especially one so passionate about it as my daughter.

Because the break is a clean one, my daughter feels the healing time will be quicker. She’s glad it was her right-hand because she’s left-handed. She’s glad it was her hand, and not her foot. She’s glad she has a girlfriend living with her temporarily, having just moved in a few days ago. How timely was that? And when she realized something was amiss, that something was broken, her fellow dancers immediately went into action, getting her an ice-pack, pain-killers, and hovering, offering assistance, and support. And the artistic director, her boss, was at her side, sympathetic and concerned. After he viewed the xray of her broken hand, he asked if she had help at home. Replying that she had a friend with her, he still told my daughter to call him if she needed anything, as did many of the dancers.

Last night a number of people from work were at my daughter’s apartment, dining on pizza and sitting around chatting. As a mom, my heart is warmed knowing she has a family with whom to share her ups and downs. I can’t be everywhere, so I’m glad there are angels always hovering nearby.

Children grow up to assume lives as adults. How they do it is not a mystery, really. It’s just putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that every day presents new possibilities. There’ll always be challenges, but with them come new discoveries…about life…about themselves. We’ve all been there, done that, and continue to do so. That really is what life’s about, isn’t it?

another challenge…another possibility…hugmamma.

japan, different perspectives

www.army.mil

Image by The U.S. Army via Flickr

Saw my physical therapist today. As with other alternative health practitioners, I find my sessions with Dieter and Jody mentally therapeutic as well. Perhaps it’s because they, along with chiropractors and massage therapists, are in “my space” as they work to heal my body. I find it easy to express my thoughts and feelings about a whole host of topics, especially about life’s ups and downs. Because these practitioners look to getting at the root of the problem, rather than prescribing drugs for the symptoms, their solutions are more organic. They resolve to get my body back working for me, not against me. I cannot recommend them enough. Carrie, Rachel, Jennifer, Dieter and Jody are my pit stop team. Whenever I need retooling, they’re on hand to service my “parts.”

Dieter and I spoke briefly of the devastation in Japan, as did Jody and I. What was interesting about the latter conversation is what Jody told me about a couple of her Japanese co-workers who have families in Japan. To her surprise, her peers expressed little concern about their relatives. One of them still had parents and siblings there. She seemed to feel they were fine since they were in the southern part of the island. The other staff member whose sister lived just outside Sendai, where the earthquake struck, explained that such natural disasters were commonplace. The implication was that the Japanese learned to live with them.

神奈川沖浪裏 Kanagawa oki nami ura (

Image via Wikipedia

Needless to say, I was as surprised as Jody. I thought of American parents who were frantically seeking word of their young, adult children who lived and worked in Japan. I thought of TV news pictures showing people flocking to catch flights out of the country, hurrying to get away from the nuclear contamination that threatens to spread. As I pondered the disparate views of 2 Japanese women, and 2 American women, I realized the answer lay in the differences in our cultures.

Honor of country and oneself is what drives the Japanese. They honor their gods, but the people control their own destinies. With their hands, their minds, and their steely determination, they forge ahead. They work through and around obstacles. They seem to take no notice of the words “no,” “can’t be done,” “not possible.” Instead they seem to embrace the words “let’s try,” “let’s see,” “if not this, maybe this.”

SHOW ME THE OBI ! -- THE OSHIMA ISLAND GIRLS o...

Image by Okinawa Soba via Flickr

On NBC’s World News with Brian Williams tonight, reporter Ann Curry spoke with several survivors. A middle-aged couple seemed to epitomize exactly what the Japanese are about. In the midst of a country torn apart, they were picking up the pieces, literally. They swept and scrubbed the tile floors, and along with neighbors, they carted snow from the surrounding hillsides, melting it into water. The men were shown proudly carving chopsticks from bamboo they had gathered themselves.

U.S. Navy Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the Jo...

Image via Wikipedia

Curry and her camera crew also visited shelters, one where young boys were seen laughing and clowning around for the the TV team. Another boy was drawing pictures, lost in his own world. The elderly were being tended to by others concerned for their fragile health. And local women sent food in the form of rice-balls, for the starving homeless. There was a general air of people helping people, as they patiently awaited their turn for help from their own government, or the outside world.

Oft-times I think we Americans tend to project our own world-view upon those of others. We can’t imagine that others would think differently. We proclaim English as the universal language, and our way of thinking as the most reasonable. Knowing the Japanese culture as I do, having been raised among them, I could guess at the reasoning behind the reaction of the 2 Japanese women who worked in the physical therapist’s office. My immediate reaction was the same as Jody’s. However, it was tempered by my knowledge of a culture that is world’s apart not only physically, but in its value system as well.

Two maiko performing in Gion.

Image via Wikipedia

 

so perhaps they don’t worry…until they have to worry…hugmamma.

ever have one of those years?

I know the year’s not done, but in the words of the reigning Queen Elizabeth, thus far mine’s been an “annus horribilis.” I’m not complaining, well maybe a tad. It’s more that I’m amazed at being blindsided by events over which I’ve had no control. I’m sure I speak for every one of us.

For me the chain of events began in late Fall when my daughter returned home for health reasons. As her mom I naturally felt the time with us was not just about physical healing. I knew it included emotional, spiritual and mental care as well. Her inner wellness was just as crucial as her external wellness. That for me meant making the journey with her. I felt her lows, and I reveled in her ascents back to normalcy. But it was a roller coaster ride for sure. And while I made certain that she had all kinds of support, I thought I could go it alone. Of course I reached out to my husband and friends, but moms tend to take on more than they can sustain. I didn’t know I had, until my daughter left.

Illness came calling almost as soon as our daughter boarded her flight home. I was laid up for weeks battling digestive, as well as respiratory ailments. At the time my husband was away on a business trip. Not being able to get out of the house for stretches at a time, my spirits were stretched thin, very thin. Not getting to exercise class regularly didn’t help.

Deciding to have physical therapy for chronic upper back, shoulder and neck pain once I felt well enough, got the endorphins moving. The sun seemed to be smiling down upon me once again as I got outdoors, breathing deeply of fresh air and renewed hope for better days ahead. Of course Christmas needed to go back into plastic, storage bins, but I hadn’t the strength yet for that monstrous chore. It would have to wait until I returned from our trip to see our daughter perform. But I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me 3,000 miles away.

Almost from the get-go, our family was engulfed in a discussion of differing opinions. Any mother of a young adult knows we must tread lightly with our opinions. Yes, I want her to know how I feel, but I don’t want to live her life. At 61, I don’t want to live mine, AND hers. Been there, done that, don’t want to do it again. Besides, she’s very capable of living her own life. But it’s very difficult not wanting to share my decades of experience, in the hopes that she won’t make my mistakes. Needless to say our family endured a few days of tip-toeing around one another. In the midst of it all, my husband left on another business trip. And he’s usually the neutral party. After a day or so, and much discussion, my daughter and I resumed our loving, BFF status.

Throughout the ordeal, the flu was brewing in my daughter’s gut. She danced sick, endured our brouhaha, and finally succumbed. The weekend after her performance I took her to the ER with a migraine headache that included dizziness, nausea, and mild vomiting. We sat in the lobby with many, other sick people waiting our turn to be seen, first by the insurance clerk and then the nurse, and then the doctor. Our visit began at 4:30 p.m. on Sunday, and didn’t end until 11 p.m. that night. The best part for my daughter was the last hour-and-a-half, when she slept like a baby because of the Benadryl she was getting intravenously. At that point, I was so light-headed, not having eaten since breakfast. Once I told the nurse about my hunger, she and the doctor wrapped things up pretty quickly. Once we got home, my daughter fell into bed, immediately dozing off again. I proceeded to raid the icebox. I know, my age is showing, but “icebox” somehow seems more apropos than “refrigerator.” Maybe because it makes me feel like a kid again, when MY mom did the worrying.

With my daughter sleeping in the next morning, I felt life was finally back on track, so I sat down to blog on my laptop at her dining table. Mindlessly writing, enjoying the moment, I surfed the internet for a picture to add to my post. As soon as I clicked on a photo of a picturesque beach on Maui, all Hell seemed to break loose. Those words blinking incessantly before me “virus, virus, virus’ will forever be emblazoned on my brain. Waking my daughter, together we wend our way through Hell, and back. Trying to buy a pop-up anti-virus security product, “system tool,” only got us more viruses. In fact, the laptop screen went entirely red with “VIRUS” glaring at us in huge, black letters. Using my daughter’s computer we sought online help. We found Tech Pros whose opening page warned of “system tool” being a scam. A half-hour’s drive away, we left my poor, inundated laptop in the hands of the experts..

At a cost of $199 plus tax, my good-as-new laptop was back home with me a couple of days later.  It’s actually better than before. Tech Pros installed a security system, in addition to zapping all those yucky viruses, “dead as door nails.” (Where’d that expression come from, I wonder?) Talk about bed-bugs, I really felt like the viruses had crawled into bed with me. As we used to say growing up on Maui as kids, those viruses gave me the “heegie-beegies!” The correct saying, according to my daughter, is “heebie-geebies.” Whichever it is, it’s exactly how I felt.

Oh, and then there was the matter of cancelling the credit cards we’d used to try to purchase “system tool,” whose sole purpose was probably to steal our information. My daughter’s Visa was replaced in a day or so at a rushed shipping cost of $16. My Master Card arrived the following day at no extra charge to me, except that the UPS driver left the envelope on the wrong doorstep. I learned of their error after I arrived home last night. While I was still at my daughter’s trying to track down my new credit card, I ended up having to cancel it, and have another new one sent to my home address. 

As if we’d not had enough I got hit with “the bug,” or so we thought. I started feeling the nausea my daughter had experienced. We thought it might be the flu. Would those viruses ever leave us be? As it turns out, we decided I was probably experiencing gastritis or the beginnings of an ulcer. Over the past few months, heart burn symptoms have returned time and again. Getting on a regimen of Prilosec and Tums as needed, as well as a diet of whole grains, steamed veggies and selected fruits seems to have calmed my digestive system down considerably.

But just when my health ordeal was unfolding, Mother Nature decided to ratchet things up a bit with a tornado watch. With heavy rains and winds whipping about, the sirens at my daughter’s apartment complex began blaring. Turning on the TV to the news channel, we learned of a full-blown tornado watch in our area. As the newscaster followed its movement, my daughter and I emptied her bathroom of anything that could kill us if we were to hunker down, wrapped in heavy quilts in the bathtub. My husband, back home from his business trip, called while we were preparing for the worst. Needless to say, he was worried. Needless to say, I was panicked, my digestive symptoms getting worse by the minute.

As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, no tornado touched down in our area, although sightings were reported in other parts. Due to return home to Washington, I hoped my digestive symptoms would abate long enough for me to make the trip which included a stop-over. Fingers crossed, I checked in online.

When I awoke yesterday I was good to go, having taken one of my daughter’s sleeping supplements which helped me rest through most of the night. I even blogged, putting out a post, before packing away my laptop. My husband called making certain I was, in fact, traveling. Later he called back warning that my flight was delayed 45 minutes, which would affect my connecting flight. The hour wait was now shortened to half-an-hour. I wasn’t deterred. I was ready to return home and be sick in my own house, rather than “riding it out” at my daughter’s.

When I got to the airport, I called my husband to say I’d made it, and asked if he could check for other flights in case I missed my connection. He called back with great news. The connecting flight was also delayed by 45 minutes. Hallelujah! God decided to give me a break. As it turned out, I had to work for it. My flight arrived in Terminal C. I had to high-tail it to Terminal D, which I did. Panting, my feet literally flew as I rushed past anyone and everyone making sure I wouldn’t miss my flight home. So determined to make it, I wound up standing in line at the wrong gate. God intervened again when another passenger informed me of my mistake. I hoofed it out of there, making it to the right line. I needn’t have worried. The flight didn’t leave the gate until well past the delayed departure time.

The only thing that hurt by the time I landed home in Washington, was my fanny. Could they make airplane seats any harder? But I’m home, with my husband, cats and dog. And you know what else? I’m even delighted to see that Christmas is still with us. My cat-sitter left a note saying, in part, “…I love all the xmas decorations! China Rose.” Don’t you just love her name? And she’s a sweetheart to boot.

The year’s not done as I’ve said. But I’m determined that it’ll get better. So I’m rejoining my friends in exercise class, continuing with my physical therapy appointments, healthier diet, and blogging. I’ll look into starting yoga, tackling other writing projects, and an adult ed class, perhaps in French.

we can all make lemonade…out of lemons…hugmamma.  🙂

working out the “knots,” makes a difference

Had my second physical therapy appointment today with Pierre at Olympic Therapy. Several weeks ago, I had experienced muscle pain in the area of my neck, upper back and shoulder blades which traveled the length of my left arm, including my fingers. The tingling sensation that went along with it, and the sharp pain in my armpit, had me thinking heart attack. Needless to say I lay awake all night, wondering. By the following morning, I’d decided the chronic ache I’d been experiencing for years, had gone into overdrive. A visit to the chiropractor and the internist later that day confirmed my suspicions.

Following almost immediately upon the heels of my back problem, I caught my husband’s cold. The hacking cough I developed as a result, lasted weeks. My back, and ribs, took a beating. I decided then and there that once I was well enough, I was seeing a physical therapist. I needed deep down relief from the tightened muscles I’d lived with for years.

Many have told me that my neck, shoulder, and upper back muscles felt like a block of brick, including doctors, alternative health practitioners, my husband and my daughter. Doctors prescribed over-the-counter pain medications, as well as muscle relaxants. Chiropractors and massage therapists have given me great relief which lasted, until I returned to the daily grind of lifting, bending, twisting, slouching. But I knew the day would come when I needed physical therapy to undo all the “knots” that had accrued over my lifetime.

Pierre has allowed me to see that I needn’t live with chronic pain. In my first session last week, he evaluated the extent to which my head could turn from one side to the next. It was obvious that turning to the left met with some resistance the further I tried to move my head. Pierre taught me exercises to do there, and at home, which have loosened the tightness in that area considerably. He also recommended corrections to how I should sit at the computer, sliding forward to the edge of the seat so that the weight of my body rests on my legs. Having done as he suggested, my return visit already showed signs of improvement.

Today as I lay looking up at the ceiling, Pierre used a roller of some sort to work through the knots on the left side of my neck. I felt pressure, but no pain. He concurred when I asked if the knots were scar tissue that had amassed in the area over time. He again confirmed that he was working to release the fascia which encases the muscles. Finally, he warned me that the tiny capillaries were releasing blood, so that my neck would have red bruises for a couple of days.

When I sat upright, my vision was so clear, as if someone had inserted new eyeballs into my sockets. Pierre chuckled when I told him. But more significantly, from the time he worked on my neck until now, there is such a looseness in the area of my neck, the likes of which I’ve not felt in more than a decade. I realize, however, that more needs to be done to ensure that the healing is long-lasting, and not a temporary fix. Especially if I want to remain active, and capable of lifting, bending, twisting, but NOT slouching. I’m going to sit up straight from now on, even if it kills me!

Medical doctors are not the “be all and end all” to good health. Many of them will tell you, a little help from alternative health practitioners goes a long way toward keeping our bodies oiled and primed to enjoy quality of life. And one of my main priorities, apart from my family, is to keep my “chassis” up and running, and good to go!

you might want to do the same…hugmamma.

vertigo alert!

Just spoke with a friend whose husband had a severe bout of vertigo, which began a couple of days ago. Seems he awoke feeling extremely dizzy. Thinking it might pass, they waited a few hours before my friend finally carted her husband off to the doctor. Against his wishes, I might add.

Though nothing serious, like a stroke or heart attack, the diagnosis of “benign positional vertigo” was unexpected, and the symptoms distressing. The doctor explained that the cause might have been something as simple as ear wax or a hair. Either might have found its way to the spot in the brain that’s responsible for balance.

The physician’s immediate solution was that my girlfriend’s husband take the over-the-counter travel sickness pills, RUGBY, available in chewable form at Costco. As an alternative remedy, physical therapy was mentioned as well. It seems certain practitioners are equipped to treat vertigo.

Luckily for Jim, RUGBY did the trick. He regained his sense of balance yesterday, and continues to feel normal today. Vertigo may return, as in the case of my sister-in-law who experienced a terrible, debilitating bout a few years ago. I think it lingered for a while. Unfortunately, I recently heard that the ailment has imposed itself upon her once again, making her life miserable I’m sure.

So I pass this information along as a heads up for anyone who is a sufferer of vertigo, or knows someone who is. Quality of life depends upon good health. I know, having just gone nine rounds of a-knock-down, drag-out wrestling match with digestive and upper respiratory issues.

getting by with a little help from our friends…hugmamma.