Category: RETIREMENT IS NOT WITHOUT HASSLES (Page 5 of 209)
My day-to-day retirement life
It all started with a busy morning of making last minute preparations for the drive to Maine and back. We dropped the dogs off at Schnauzerville, picked up the Nissan Rogue rental SUV, and packed for 19-days on the road. Our first leg was essentially a straight shot up I-75 to Atlanta. My wife’s niece was home for the 2024 Olympics after years of coordinating all the torch runs, so we were able to stay with her for the night and watch the events on TV.
It was the first road trip when I didn’t even bother to pack my running gear, replaced with a cold pack and heating pad. Hopefully, I can do some walking and gym visits along the way while still battling a sciatica issue in my left leg. I took along three last days of steroid medication, but beyond that was expecting pain and frustration. Lunch was at Freddy’s in Ocala, before I took over the wheel, just another pound added to my already overworked, under-exercised and growing frame. Fortunately, traffic was not an issue even in the typical rough construction spots like Sarasota and Tampa. I was pleased with the rental upgrade, offering plenty of room for hanging clothes and survival supplies like water and Diet Coke. A chocolate shake was my Freddy’s splurge on top of the cheeseburger and fries. My wife’s app got her a free burger.
Our first Georgia stop was a rest area, followed by a brisket sandwich at Buc-ee’s – no road trip is complete anymore without a stop to visit “The Beaver.” That put us just a little over an hour from our overnight stop for manicotti, Buc-ee nuggets, and the Olympics. Vodka, wine, ice cream, and Limoncello made for a restless night’s sleep with an upset tummy. I got up for a walk before we made our way to the next Buc-ee’s for breakfast kolaches.
My thigh feels like it’s on fire this morning and my stomach uneasy. Taking both dogs out was a painful chore. The doctor prescribed another round of steroids that I will pick up today, hoping that it will give me at least a few days of relief like the first batch. I feel like I’m being penalized for all those mornings when I could get moving with relative ease. I even slept on the heating pad last night and reapplied the cold pack on my way out the door, both with minimal effectiveness. Sitting down to write is the only normal part of my mornings these days.
Yesterday, we went to the beach, sitting in the back yard of 32-Gasparillo Island billionaires. We were with friends who shared a fried chicken picnic lunch. It was a great day, but moving in and out of the water was a chore for me. I spent a half-hour on the phone with the doctor, confirming the need for an additional prescription. I’m concerned about the upcoming long drive to Maine and being without my chiropractor for three weeks. Floating in the salty water should have taken the strain off my back and legs, but fighting the current and getting back to my beach chair was exhausting. I stumbled trying to get back on my feet, feeling like a Weeble-Wobble. I’m more than frustrated with this recovery process.
Tonight, we go to the Englewood Moose for dinner and tomorrow evening we celebrate my son’s belated 50th at Pinchers. Monday morning we hit the road in our rental car with an overnight stay in Atlanta. Tuesday we’ll arrive in Indiana. As this Friday morning wears on, I should get back enough flexibility in my leg to go to the gym. Fortunately, the pain slowly subsides as I sit upright and let the cold pack numb my thigh. My wife is headed to the beach again, a luxury thanks to where we live, although I hadn’t been there for six long months until yesterday.
The Olympic Opening Ceremonies are tonight from Paris. I’m, of course, not eligible to participate again due to steroid ingestions these past two weeks, but I wish my fellow Americans good luck. It will be good to have some fresh TV to watch, having caught up on all our current series including The Land of Women, Presumed Innocent, and House of the Dragon. Some of these finales will be put on hold until we get back home in three weeks. See you on the Road!
Getting ready for a long blog blackout. Three weeks without my computer on the road to Maine. The less packing at each stop the better – at least ten different beds along the way – only two Marriott Hotels. Lots of stories to tell when I get back. I’m getting all my home banking squared away in preparation for the journey. It will be at least 3,500 miles of driving, but I’ll return with the glory of having visited all 50 states.
The dogs will go to “Schnauzerville,” their home away from home. However, when my wife goes to visit her daughter in Oakland this November, we’ve decided to divide and conquer. I will stay home, weary of traveling, to take care of the pups. They’ll be disappointed with “Mom” gone. Thankfully, this will be the extent of this year’s holiday travel for both of us since both of her girls will be here in January. Our next adventure will likely be the Florida Keys in February or March. We’ll get our discount tickets for the high-speed ferry in December.
Most everything is booked in the Caribbean next year, after looking into potential Marriott Vacation Club opportunities. We’ll need to get a head start on 2026 for Costa Rica or St. John’s. Next year should be quiet on the travel front, with the priorities being substitute teaching for my wife and a potential part-time job for me. Above all, I need to stay away from medical care! We need to take advantage of all the amenities we have here at Islandwalk, for once. After all, we do live in paradise – there’s no need to travel thousands of miles for sunshine, palm trees, and sandy beaches. I’m prepared for a long staycation, no packing and unpacking, as we think about our 25th anniversary and a potential trip to China.
I’ve just taken my last steroid tablet with mixed results regarding its purpose in relieving my leg pain. There have been moments when I’ve felt like I could conquer the world, followed by cramps and discomfort in my calf muscle. I feel like I’m making progress one hour, followed by despair the next. I will soon have a follow-up with the prescribing physician to determine the next steps. The big question remains: Will there be anger in the withdrawal stages – ‘Roid Rage?
I honestly don’t feel very well – a bit light-headed and achy, but unrelated to my visit to the Urologist yesterday, other than it just added to my seemingly endless medical woes. I’m now trying the drug Finasteride to relieve an enlarged prostrate with the side benefit of keeping my hair from falling out. Fortunately, that’s one problem I’ve never had, but certainly my bladder issues need help, substituting one pill for another.
When we return from travel, I will need an MRI for my continuing sciatica problems, alongside back-to-back appointments with the cardiologist, urologist, optician, chiropractor, and neurologist. What more could possibly go wrong? It’s been a heart-stoppin’, pill-poppin’, leg-hoppin’, eye-droppin’ medical rollercoaster that I would like to get off. Tylenol, vitamins, baby Aspirin, statins, blood pressure, steroid, prostrate, heartburn, and allergy pill bottles now fill my medicine cabinet. Routine blood pressure checks and three kinds of eye drops keep me busy. At least, I’m not on anti-depressants, even though my entertainment dollars are spent on co-pays. Sadly, too many of us old farts can relate to this retirement regimen!
I still find time to go to the gym, but even that is less satisfying than running used to be. Chair Yoga is only once a week and walking still limited to the treadmill. I ride the bike, but don’t go anywhere. There are fifteen bags of mulch to put down, but I can’t seem to find the strength or energy. I’ve fallen but can’t get up – even sit-ups and push-ups are no longer a habit. I’d be sorry for myself, but too many of my peers are in worst shape. However, I feel every bit like the father of a fifty-year-old! Will ‘Roid Rage be next?
As we head back to Indiana in a week, I’ve prepared this poem for a group of eight media friends celebrating their 70th birthdays:
Six Ad Chicks and Two Dicks
As we enter old age,
We honor six Ad Chicks,
And a couple of sales pimps,
Known as the “Two Dicks.”
We forgot a few,
I have no doubt.
But like so many buys,
Some were just left out.
We party at the Mousetrap,
This family of Media friends.
And will blow out the candles,
Before the evening ends.
England, Kaiser, Albrecht,
Reilly, Flora, and Roman Chicks,
You all don’t look your age,
Warner, Harbin Birthday Dicks.
Septuagenarians unite,
No, I didn’t say SEX.
Back then, it was calls,
Not e-mails and texts.
“The client has needs,”
Numbers to crunch.
Settling our differences,
Over a cocktail lunch.
Agencies and Media,
Never on level ground.
One rounds up,
The other down.
Arbitron ratings,
Were still a thing.
Stuck at our desks,
Ring, phone, ring.
It wasn’t as though,
We could take it along.
Plugged in the wall,
The cord not so long.
The phone was your friend,
Or the nagging enemy.
What’s my share?
Came the desperate plea.
Billboards and print,
Added so many choices,
Does the client prefer,
Pictures or Voices?
Let the Buyer Beware,
And the Seller prepared.
Or those promised spots,
May not get aired.
Your insert or display ad,
Might not be placed.
Then a disgruntled buyer,
Had to be Faced.
Being Queens,
And dealing with Jokers.
It often led,
To heavy smokers.
There once was no cable,
Podcasts or streams.
We all had comp tickets,
To follow our teams.
Events and concerts,
Payola galore.
Trips made the bad buys,
Hard to ignore.
Another powerpoint,
Stacks of Media kits.
But If you agree,
I’ll get you in the Pits.
And in retirement,
There’s no front row seats.
Back Stage passes,
Or fancy suites.
So glad we got together,
Before more of us departs.
And those who couldn’t make it,
Are forever in our hearts.
Happy Birthday to you….
I won’t be eligible for this year’s Olympics again, this time due to steroid use. I doubt that I could hit 70-home runs or break a world record in the 100-meter dash, but I sure feel better. Finally, after months of chiropractic treatment, trying to relieve a pinched sciatica nerve near my spine, I can move again. The doctor hooked me up with an accident injury specialist who prescribed a week’s worth of Methylprednisolone tablets. I’m half-way through the dosage and was able to walk comfortably, at a fast pace, last evening. Even my wife, who typically is two steps ahead, commented that I needed to slow down.
I’m still a bit stiff and sore in the morning, sitting on an ice bag as I write this. The pain my hip and leg are not debilitating like previous days. After warming up, I feel great – full of energy – full of steroids. I honestly hope that after the 7-day period, I’m not hooked and that it continues to heal naturally. I had a little trouble working with a doctor whose card reads, Florida Injury?” but the chiropractor, who I do trust, can’t prescribe drugs. I can now comfortably continue the rehab from my open-heart surgery, six months ago without pain.
I have been going to the gym every day, but I’m limited on what I can do. I initially thought that I would simply be replacing the daily runs with long walks. However, I would get cramps and Charlie Horses. Medication changes helped some. I next tried the pool to take the pressure off my back, along with the stationary bike, rowing machine, weight machines, and treadmill where I could hold on to the side rails. Last night, with the support aid of Tally’s dog stroller we walked Fosse. For the first time, I felt like I didn’t need to hold on tight.
My attitude and patience suddenly improved. I spent the day sorting baseball cards and could actually bend over and lift the heavy binders without pain. The question remains: Is it actually healing or just numb from the steroids? Will I be back to normal once the drugs wear off? Or, will I seek the dark back alleys in search of a steroid dealer?
