Or more precisely, lower lower back.  My entire spine is shot.  The cervical region literally, of course. In fact there are still enough bullet fragments in my neck to have forced the cancellation of a recent MRI. I protested only mildly. Frankly, impersonating a torpedo is not my favorite activity. Instead, I have a CT scan showing orthopedic collapse up and down the bony column. Why? Don’t know, but years of sitting, combined with not only weak but uneven musculature, probably has been bending me out of shape for decades.

What I know for sure is that I have pain. I don’t like pain. And more than pain, I have fear of more pain, as well as a tremendously uncertain sense of everything. This has much to do with the body’s gradual undoing. What will be next? What will fail? What will further restrict me?

My neurologist/orthopedist has assured me that I shouldn’t worry. I get up to three cortisone injections, it seems, under Medicare. And, hell, if I want to pull out all the stops and buy some more cortisone, presumably that’s OK. Of course, it isn’t. I had enough drugs in my youth. Now I do whatever I can to avoid the suckers. The one exception is Fosamax, a drug that is supposed to make you absorb more calcium, although a doctor friend describes it slightly differently. According to him, this popular pharmaceutical for the osteoporotic is much like trying to support a house with drywall. Yes, calcium does cling better to the vertebrae, but the outside, not the interior. Besides, I view the entire pharmaceutical industry with great skepticism. And, I do acknowledge, they can come up with a hell of a vaccine, when they put their minds to it. Never mind.

What I’m talking about is age. For everyone I know, in one form or another, this is what’s happening. All systems are not go. But many systems are going. The only question being how fast and how far. So a wise person accepts this and doesn’t worry. I am not a wise person. Every day I get on an exercise bicycle, peddling away to Netflix, trying to hold on for a half an hour. Which I do. But each morning I also have a slight twinge of anxiety. Is my heart going to give out? And if it doesn’t, why doesn’t it? The cardiac bell tolls for someone, and it could very well be me, right? Ours is not to reason. Ours is to get on the fucking bike.

There are some fine things happening, despite all this deterioration. Like our trip to the Northwest. There, the disabling condition that threatens me most is the lodge room at Lake Crescent. More specifically, the bathroom. And interestingly, the threat having been acknowledged, I am not worrying about it. Why? Jane. That’s the simplest, most accurate, reason. We’re not going to take big orthopedic risks getting me into the bathtub/shower. The latter isn’t really designed for wheelchairs, more adapted. But I am adaptable too. Important to remember this. And give Olympic National Park, Lake Crescent, and life at least one more try.