So yesterday I took wifey to see our family ortho, Julio Robla, but she saw his terrific PA Jason instead. Sadly, the third period of her bad back is, well, back. I'm calling it the Third Intifadeh, which Wifey asked me not to, but to me its apt -- living during a period of anxiety and pain -- normal things don't happen. Of course, even bad back pain doesn't equate to suicide bombings at Tel Aviv cafes, but I always DID have a flair for hyperbole.
The news, as I expected, was anatomically pretty good -- typical age related changes in her hip and lower spine -- and Jason ordered a hip MRI just to "make sure" before prescribing a course of physical therapy. As to her back, she gets another epidural injection in March, though now she may move it closer if she cancels a cruise she was going to take with her BFF.
Spinal pain and disability is a queer duck, medically. As crack radiologist Dr. Kenny reminded us last night, before we learned about the heartless hen, MRIs of ALL older folks like us will show some bulging, herniations, etc... and yet some of us are fine while others are left essentially homebound. Even Jason told us about patients he sees who are "big, tough, young athletes" literally in tears from hip bursa pain that isn't even surgical.
I think the next step will be other modalities of therapy -- these seemed to bring ends to the prior 2 intifadehs, um, periods of bad back pain -- hopefully they work again.
And as for me, well, I need to work on better empathy, it seems. MY spinal aging is, per CT scans of my neck, FAR worse than Wifey's -- the last report showed "moderate to severe" stenosis. My GP said technically that meant I should get a neurosurgical consult, but I declined. I opted instead for some PT, and in a month or so, under Jason's and his boss Julio's supervision, the pain went away, mostly.
And I tend to adopt the philosophy of Dr. Barry -- at least YOUNG Dr. Barry, who always reminded me that if you weren't undergoing a bone marrow transplant for awful cancer (apparently one of the worst treatments there is), or your child wasn't terminally ill from leukemia -- well then, as the Millennials say, STFU.
Turns out this is not good marital advice, as Barry has learned from his OWN wife, who like Wifey, suffers from a litany of health complaints -- all of which limit her greatly, but none of which are terminal. Barry and I discussed this last night -- we BOTH need to be more empathetic -- at least so long as we wish to ensure a greater degree of , to quote the great document, domestic tranquility.
Anyway, after the visit, I dropped off Wifey and then left for Ghee, a local Indian-ish restaurant, where Barry, Norman, and Kenny and I met for wine (or wine based cocktails -- I really prefer a restaurant with a proper liquor license) and some tasty apps. We talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings -- a great fraternity of students pre-class.
Rabbi Moshe led us in a discussion of how Rabbis ought to "get into the real world" along with mere Talmudic/Torah reasoning before offering advice. The humorous example was a chicken brought home from a kosher butcher, and prepared by a young girl with her pet cat nearby. Although the chicken had been robust and healthy before it met its ritual slaughter, the girl claimed it had no heart.
An investigation began -- was the thing kosher for eating? Maybe the heart dropped to the floor and the cat ate it. No, the girl testified, a spleen had done that, but there was no heart. The rabbi consulted a university anatomist -- could there be such a thing as a living, heartless hen? Well, the unsaid misogynistic thoughts of most of the men could say sure -- look at my ex girlfriend or ex wife.
But the discussion remained at a higher level -- in addition to Barry and Kenny, there's another doc in the class -- an older eye doc at Baptist. There are also Norman, an active lawyer, me, a mostly retired one, and Jeff, one not a lawyer since 1994.
Our group of 5, as Norman noted, sort of hijacked the class, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, even the puns (Rabbi Moshe said some info was in the appendix -- I noted the appendix was NOT a vital organ like the heart).
We also discussed a form of RFK, Jr. quackery that arose in Europe in the 1700s -- the thought that many people were buried alive, and to fix this, authorities mandated waiting periods where the community had to wait for putrefaction (love that word -- haven't used in a minute) -- and these "mortuary houses" turned up no actually living corpses. Of course, these decrees went against Jewish law, which says we bury as soon as possible after death. THAT led to great discourse as well -- I reminded Kenny of the Munchkins' proclamation of the Wicked Witch -- she wasn't MERELY dead, she was really, most sincerely dead.
Of course, the main draw of the class for me (akin to Canes football) is the bonding with my posse.
Hell, if we found a similar class at UM NOT taught by a Rabbi, where we could all meet, that would do the trick, too -- we'd just switch restaurants from Kendall to The Gables.
So I have my work cut out for me as the first month of 2026 draws near a close. Think more deeply about The Big Man and His laws, versus healthy discussion and debate, and be more empathetic with Wifey on her journey back to health.
Good thing I'm mostly retired. How would I have the time for this otherwise?
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