I was laid up for a few days with sciatica problems. I had a bout with it a few years ago and my family practice doctor at the time gave me some sheets with pictures of back exercises. I did them and the pain shooting down my right side went away. He said that I should keep doing them. So I did.
I’ve been walking daily for a few years now, too. Wake up, do my back exercises, take my daily meds and vitamins, walk. Sometimes I jog a little during the time out there. Maybe I shouldn’t have started doing that.
About mid November I noticed a slight twinge on my left side while walking. About a week later I could barely move. It hurt. A lot. I couldn’t stand up straight. I limped. I honestly think it was the worst pain I’ve ever had. I dutifully did my back exercises, but even that wasn’t much help.
I went to an immediate care clinic. The nurse practitioner agreed with my self diagnosis of sciatica and prescribed some steroids and muscle relaxant. It was a slow recovery, but eventually I started walking, fifteen minutes at first, adding a little each day.
I’m back up to my usual walk of a little over an hour. I have about a three mile regular loop that I follow through town.
Part of that loop is the local train station where I stop and briefly chat with John, the station master. Other than the occasional dog and the person picking up poop after them, John is the only person I see on my walk.
A few days after my visit to the clinic, one of the friends with whom I golf once a week called to say he had tested positive for COVID-19. He got it from his step son. All the members of our foursome wore masks and maintained distance. We were outdoors obviously. Still, we all stayed the fuck home as the CDC guidelines suggest.
My wife, step-son and I all stayed the fuck home. We sat in a car line for three hours and got tested. We all tested. We tested negative. My other golf buddies tested negative, too.
Not that I was going anywhere with the sciatica, but having to stay home slowed my walking regime even after the steroids kicked in and the pain subsided.
It was a couple of weeks before I started walking again. During that time, my wife stopped to tell John that I wasn’t dead. He said he had been worried, but didn’t know who to contact to check. He was glad to know.
When I finally got to the point of making it to the depot it was about three weeks. I didn’t notice John’s red Ford pickup. That was Monday. He wasn’t there on Tuesday or the rest of the week. It was my turn to worry.
Given the health times, I hoped he didn’t catch COVID. Given the economic times, I hoped that Metra hadn’t laid him off because ridership had fallen so much and the government hasn’t been forthcoming in stimulating transit systems. I didn’t know who I could contact to check on John, but I did check news stories to see if Metra had any layoffs.
My point is related to me and John and the time we didn’t see each other. We don’t know much about our lives other than what we gather from our daily two-three minute conversations every day. John tells me when he’s taking the day off. I’ve told him when I’m going golfing with my buddies.
I think it’s our way of simply saying, “Don’t worry. I don’t have Covid. And I ain’t dead.”
I’d like to think that more people can start caring about others and checking on their neighbors both during these trying times and beyond in whatever the new normal will be like. We don't have to agree on issues, politics, vaccines, masks, religion, or anything. We just have to care that the other person is okay.
NOTE: A reader asked if John is okay. Thanks for pointing out that I missed saying that. Yes, John is okay. He took a vacation week of doing the "Honey Do" list.
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