Twisted Sister

  It turns out that having a twisted pelvis is hilarious! Not just giggle funny.  Not conspiratorial cackle funny.  Way beyond a polite teehee.  I'm talking smiling so hard it hurts, eyes closed, no sound, can't catch your breath, whooping, potentially pants peeing, stomach clenching, tear producing, you know you shouldn't be laughing but you can't help yourself gut-busting laughter.  Who knew?
  Actually, I predicted this act of inappropriate chortling before I sat down with the physical therapist.  Five out of six health care providers that I've been to since my injury have witnessed me break down in tears and/or uncontrollable spasms of raucous laughter.  I can't help it, this unforeseen affliction is intertwined with my emotions to a degree that any and all treatment is not just a physical adjustment but a trip to the psychologist as well....whether those care givers intend it or not.  Perhaps I should have tipped more....
  My first three attempts at pain relief were in S. Lake Tahoe.  Painfully limping into the massage therapists' studio I was fairly certain that a massage wasn't going to cure me, but I thought it might loosen up my frozen muscles and, really, since when did a massage hurt?  I waited in the swanky spa waiting room looking at skin products I would never allow myself to spend so much money on and felt somewhat out of place.  Once ushered into the room, the massage therapist was very welcoming and friendly and put me at ease right away.  When she asked me what she could help me with and I began explaining to her about hiking the PCT and the extreme pain I was in I just burst into tears.  At that point I was just freshly off the trail and was very distressed at falling behind my thru-hiking pals and worried about how long it would take for me to get back on the trail.  I had, after all, dreamed and planned for this trip for many years.  So as I described the pain and the trip I just spontaneously began blubbering.  I don't cry easily or often, much less in front of strangers. so I cried, apologized, justified and laid down on the table and shut my dough hole.  The masseuse was very understanding and did an excellent job of not making me feel like a nitwit.  The massage was nice, but not miracle-working.
  The next step I took in seeking relief was going to a chiropractor.  I walked in with no appointment and he agreed to see me immediately.  I think he could hear the desperation in my voice.  Again, while explaining my predicament I got the quiver lip and cracked voice and had to bow my head for a second.  It's like I was already mourning not being on the trail.  I regained my composure and he took me through a battery of tests. At that point almost everything caused sharp pain, but I sucked in my breath and sucked it up, letting him know what hurt and what was OK.  But here's where things get quirky:  when I'm anticipating pain or when I'm in shock and pain I react with sheer unadulterated laughter.  As the doctor was pressing on my taut muscles, he might as well have been tickling me under the arm.  Seriously.  He looked at me like I was a) crazy, b) crazy, and c) crazy.  Between shrieks of laughter I assured him that he was not hurting me excessively and that I was OK, but that, yes, that was a tender spot. Only one minute later I was weeping with pain, not laughter. He took it in stride and gave me his diagnosis.  As I left his office I thanked him profusely and went to shake his hand and he opened his arms to give me a hug.  I accepted it gratefully as it felt like we'd been through a lot in just 50 minutes together.  He chuckled when I told him he was better than "Cats."
  The very next day I went to see an acupuncturist.  Again, anticipating an emotional explanation of my situation, I was nearly able to get the words "I may cry" out before I started crying while describing my journey and ailments.  Having had acupuncture treatments in the past, I know that they often tap into emotional outlets and I knew this injury was very closely attached to disappointment, pride, sadness, and some fear.  As the practitioner placed the needles in my body I tried to relax.  And then she hit The Spot.  Whatever channel she tapped in to, it let the tears flow freely.  She looked concerned.  I lay on the table weeping and reassured her I was totally fine.  No, really.
  I did not get any further treatment, other than a shot of honky-tonk, an injection of old-time, a splash of bluegrass, and a dose of cajun, until I got here to Seattle where I've been on the down low with friends formerly from Alaska.  I found a sliding-scale acupuncture clinic and made appointment.  I made it through the interview process just fine, but once the needles started going in the emotions started flowing out.  As I lay in a comfortable recliner with a total stranger using me as a pincushion, my tear ducts turned on and the waterworks began.  Again I tried to assure the woman that I was just fine....really.
  Finally, with high accolades from my hosts, I found my way to a physical therapist who could see me on short notice.  As my three tiny hooves (don't forget the cane!) made their way up the stairs into his work space I prepped myself for an outburst of emotions.  My body seemed to be finally, finally, starting to heal and loosen up, but I was anticipating the quakey chin and visions of a trail so far away that it made me sad.  I hobbled to the table, hopped up onto it (a la "Young Frankenstein"-style hopping...if you know what I mean), and told Mike the PT that I very well may cry.  He seemed amiable to this.  The appointment proceeded.  I made it through the introductions with nary a pout or wetting of the cheek.  Everything felt in check and straight forward.
  Here's the skinny:  somewhere along the trail my pelvis started twisting.  Yup, just what it sounds like.  My left hip twisted forward while the right went back resulting in my left leg being 1/4" longer than my right.  This caused my horrendous limp because essentially all the muscles on the left side of my body, from my lower back down my leg, threw up their hands and quit working.  They weren't happy with the working conditions and went on strike. Froze up.  This caused my right side to have to pick up the slack, compensate, cross the picket line and become the scabs of the muscle world. My left side didn't want to budge and my brain was powerless to fix the problem.  As a matter of fact, my brain had been wooed by my left side and totally forgotten that it had any say in the matter.  Oh powerless brain...so easily wooed.
  So what Mike the PT did was reprogram my brain, remind it that it is in charge, by pressing into muscular channels along my back and legs.  No problem, he said.  As he delved into some deep tissues and put pressure on some extremely high strung muscles, my hysteria function was triggered.  I started out giggling and proceeded into full-fledged belly laughter as if I'd just been dosed by the dentist with laughing gas.  I kept apologizing and he assured me it was no problem.  The more I tried to stop laughing the more I laughed.  Tears were streaming down my face but not because of sadness, longing, or even necessarily pain. It was certainly tender in those poor tense muscles, but it just genuinely tickled.... I think it's one way I process pain and panic.  When you see a man reach under your hip bone to reach a buried psoas muscle, one can kinda freak out.  As my more superficial belly muscles contracted with my gales of laughter, his fingers would be popped out of the deeper area he was trying to reach. "Sorry!" (again) "No problem." (he waited until the current spasm receded and reached back in for the aggravated muscle). I truly tried to take deep breaths and calm down, but the laughter kept winning.  And by gosh, it was super fun.  Laughing is fun.  I just kind of felt silly for being the only one in the room having a fit.  Ah well, Mike took it well.
  The good news is that I walked out of that building with two legs the same length.  Slowly, and with precision and still needing the cane ever so slightly, I am walking with a nearly normal gait. I've got exercises to practice to strengthen those panicky left side muscles that froze into place and wouldn't budge for weeks on end.  With (more) patience, practice, and PT I'll be back to normal eventually.  No permanent damage and this incident shouldn't affect future physical ventures.  Yay.  I've come to accept that I won't be getting back on the PCT this season.  Tough one.  But I'm grateful that my body will recover and that I will be able to finish it in the future.  Question is:  start where I left off or start all over again?  That's one to ponder....
  I believe this injury was the result of gear failure.  My pack was extremely heavy and worn out and was adjusted by a well-meaning hiker just as I left Yosemite.  Not an hour later I was fidgeting with it, it was cutting into my shoulders, and I was constantly shifting it while walking.  I never could get it back to just as it was for the first 942 miles which was good enough.  Also my shoes wore out on that 8 day stretch from Yosemite to S. Lake Tahoe and my feet and knees were taking the brunt of that piled on top of the uncomfortable, heavy pack.  Can't go back and change it, but I can be prepared for this kind of thing in the future.
  I can say that that trip to Mike the PT was one of the most hilarious doctor appointments of my life.

Cane and Abled

As I sit with the doors of the Gospel Ship wide open, trying to catch a breeze, Dirk Powell is giving a workshop and playing banjo about 30 yards away. The Gospel Ship is a van that has a stenciled picture of the Carter Family on the bow, also named for one of their songs, and is the tour rig for the Foghorn Stringband and my home base for the last week. If you’re reading this in hopes to hear how my hike on the Pacific Crest Trail is going, go ahead and sneak out of here now, because all I can report on is my journey in healing. No longer can I relate tales of glorious mountains, clear alpine streams, and the cultish family that is the PCT community. Now I can relate tales of sitting still, being patient with myself, and trying to accept the situation I find myself in. Boooooooooring! Don’t feel bad.... go ahead, leave.... inner journeys are dull compared to fantastic tales of climbing mountains at midnight. Still, and all, there is a journey still happening in my life and I’m trying to adjust to it, understand it, and accept it for what it is. I even try to be grateful for it in it’s own right. Dammit.
It turns out that during my 8 day hike from Yosemite to South Lake Tahoe I developed severe tendinitis and fasciitis in my left hip/IT band. All I could really do was take it easy. Yes, apply heat or cold (heat felt better), get acupuncture, try massage, up my magnesium.... all of these were tried coupled with extreme sitting and taking it easy. My gracious hosts in Tahoe made me feel welcome and right at home, but I felt like a useless lump of coal and felt I should move on after nearly 2 weeks in their home. My friend Nadine invited me to fly up to Portland to join her for some music festivals that her band, Foghorn Stringband, would be playing in. Because music is a passion of mine and when I’m not in the backcountry you can often find me at a music festival and because Nadine is one of my favorite people on Earth, I accepted her offer. Warning her that I’d be a useless guest, I got on a plane in Reno and found myself at music central in Oregon.
Over two weeks later, at my 4th festival, I’ve seen hours and hours of live music. From on stage at a festival, to bar gigs, to house concerts and backyard jams all of it has been amazing. Not only have I enjoyed music made by my friends, but made new friends and heard new bands that melted my face, as the kids say. I haven’t been able to dance which is a crying shame, but there is something about a backstage pass at a big festival that makes you feel like one of the cool kids. After being in Portland for a week, I hit the road with the members of Cajun Country Revival for a mini-tour of the Northwest.
While, yes, I’m having the time of my life there is certainly an underlying current of sadness. During a blistering mandolin solo or rousing Cajun version of “Lucille” I may look down at my flip-flop clad foot and suddenly have tears in my eyes. My feet look horrid: the hard-earned calluses that developed over a thousand miles of hiking have dried up and are cracking in an unsightly manner. A small toenail on my left foot completely changed shape and texture and is a constant reminder of my time on the trail. I look at my tiny hooves, their sad shape, and am reminded of all those days on the trail, the painful blisters I endured to get those calluses, and what curiosity must’ve happened over the months of walking to make a nail arch up on itself like that. So while the music rocks and rolls, my mind often wanders back to the trail, to the hot days of the Southern California desert, to the jaw-dropping views in the High Sierras, to the beloved routine of walking, eating, map consulting, and camping everyday and the incredible simplicity of it all. While people around me are dancing and smiling, I’ve secretly shed tears to mourn the end of my Pacific Crest journey. At least for 2012. It’s very confusing to feel so incredibly grateful and happy to be where I am and to also be constantly reminded by my dreadful looking feet that I’m here because I’m not there.
Not having begun the Pacific Crest Trail in any kind of effort to “find myself”, “lose myself”, or “look for meaning” it was a very physical journey for me. The physical demands of the trail, the effect it had on my feet, the knee injury I overcame...it was work every step of the way, as enjoyable as it was. My journey is not over by a long shot, but it has come to a physical halt and is now more about my emotional travels. Of course I’m still on the move, physically, but now I’m focusing more on patience with my body, being at peace with not being able to be on the trail, accepting what I can’t change or hurry. At those times when I am undoubtedly happy and in a good place with friends and amazing music, I’m trying to not focus on why I am here, why I’m not hiking the PCT. Sometimes I’m better at this than others. I also think that mourning the end of my hike and inability to finish this season is just fine. While I don’t dwell on it, I periodically let the tears trickle because the bottom line is that while I know how lucky I am to have amazing second choice options and very supportive friends and family, my dream of thru-hiking the PCT during my 40th year has been aborted.
As far as the hip goes, I’m finally, starting to see progress. It’s honestly been weeks and weeks of pretty severe pain and a goofy looking limp, but things seem to be loosening up in the area. At a festival in Demming, WA, a friend who used to be a Physical Therapist saw my awkward gait and recommended I start using a cane or a crutch so that I could relieve the pressure and pain in the affected hip. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? I picked up a cane at a Walgreen’s and immediately felt far more mobile. I really feel this will quicken the healing process. Plus, the cane is camouflage and now has a Foghorn Stringband sticker on it with their signature skull and crossed banjos, so I think it’s pretty cool. As far as canes go. I’m relieved to be able to move without pain and confident that my recovery is actually going in the right direction.
While my tiny hooves have not been able to aid in my travels, the Gospel Ship has provided my mode of transportation and good times. Being able to travel with friends is a blessing, but having those friends be amazing musicians and performers is beyond lucky. If I can’t be on the trail, I can think of nowhere I’d rather be than sailing on to the next adventure than in the comfy, sometimes crowded, often too warm, good natured, instrument-filled vessel on her way to the next festival.

*Bands you should know: Foghorn Stringband, Cajun Country Revival, The Cactus Blossoms, Kitty, Daisy, & Lewis
Caleb Klauder Country Band, Dirk Powell.
You won't regret it.