Cold Shoulders and Warm Hugs

Atlanta, GA

April 17, 2021

It’s cold on the shoulder

And you know that we get

A little older everyday 

– Gordon Lightfoot

I’m glad I had the opportunity last week to play as much golf as I did. The weather was beautiful, the courses were wonderful, and the time with my son was invaluable. 

Much as we take such moments for granted, we know they won’t always be there. At some point, our ability, and our availability, goes away.

Till last week, I’d played almost no golf the last eighteen months. A year and a half ago my right shoulder froze, and was almost completely immobile. Adhesive capsulitis locked my shoulder the way a parking boot restrains a tire. I couldn’t use that arm to comb my hair, much less swing a club. 

Not till last October, a year after the screws first tightened, were they loose enough for me to hit a ball. And that was only with a feeble half-swing that made me look as old as I felt. But at least I could be on the course, and make a ball go airborne. Over the next several weeks, the joint slowly loosened. By the end of the year, full rotation had returned. 

By the beginning of last month, so had the rust. But it had spread to the other shoulder. I was warned this could happen. Apparently, about a third of those afflicted with one frozen shoulder eventually feel the freeze in the other. 

Knowing what’s coming, I’ve been proactively putting my left arm thru the therapeutic exercises I spent a year applying to my right. During the time my shoulder was frozen, I trained myself to use my left arm for many activities that I’d always reflexively done with my right. 

Brushing my teeth, pulling a book from a shelf, walking the dog, or lifting luggage became second-nature with my left arm. I even became somewhat adept using my off-hand to throw a baseball or shoot a basketball. And I habituated myself to sitting to the right of any end table, so that my coffee or wine were easily accessible on my left.

Now, I need to undo all that. 

Whereas last year I couldn’t sleep on my right side, or use that shoulder to turn over, the situation is now reversing. Putting on a shirt is again becoming painful. A few days ago, I instinctively reached with my left hand for a dish from a high shelf, and reflexively recoiled like Reagan when the Secret Service pushed him into the car.

Even with exercises, the tightening continues. Like early autumn on the upper Plains, conditions still allow for certain activities. But the approaching chill is perceptible.

With any luck, this freeze won’t be as deep or enduring as the last one. But however long it lasts, I’m becoming aware that these pangs are less hiccups than harbingers. 

I’m still young, but more pains are on the way. Additional aches are coming. Diet and exercise mitigate them, but only nature will stop them. It’s part of aging, and that happens to all of us. We get a little older every day.

Until we don’t. 

Old age, as Orson Welles put it, is the only disease most of us don’t look forward to being cured of. But many of us become reconciled with…or at least resigned to…our eventual release. Even if we’re not that old…or never will be.

Four years ago, my aunt Isabel was diagnosed with stage four esophageal cancer. Isabel is only 66. But that she’s survived this long with this illness is something of a miracle. 

As she put it when we saw her for brunch a couple weeks ago, she has endured her affliction simply by trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “The motion”, as she put it, “is the potion”. 

But over the last few weeks, her steps have slowed. At the moment, as I write this, she is beside me, taking a nap. A few days ago, Isabel was admitted to hospice. Her daughter, Izzy, informed that she likely only has a couple weeks to live. This morning a priest was here, and administered Last Rites.

Yet Isabel remains mobile. Her steps may have slowed, but they’ve not stopped. Till she decided to lie down a few minutes ago, she had spent most of the last couple hours repeating a pattern of sitting, standing, stretching, and walking. She’s done more calisthenics this morning than I’ve done in a year!

Because of her mother’s mobility, Izzy prefers to stay with her, and has done so most of the last several days. To give her a break, I offered to stay with her mother late this morning and early this afternoon. I was more than happy to spend five hours visiting my dying aunt.

The cancer seems to have spread to her brain. And it certainly seems to have affected it. Isabel has been hallucinating much of the time I’ve been here. She has always been a talker, and that hasn’t changed. She’s been speaking most of the morning, tho’ much of what she says has been directed less toward me than to private visions and distant recollections.

But by no means all of it. We’ve talked intermittently about her parents, my sons, and her kids. We recalled times we shared with her slew of siblings, and my sole one. She has a photo album in the room, and we’ve poured thru it several times. 

A few pictures were of my grandmother. These occasionally reminded Isabel of her childhood, and of mine. As she dipped in and out of delusion, she recalled how she would sometimes babysit Brett and me when we were kids. 

Her tactic at the time was to palliate us with a couple Cokes from my grandmother’s fridge. As we were talking, she decided we should relive the occasion. She asked me to call my “grandmother”, and ask her to bring us two Cokes. A few minutes later, the nurse came into the room, carrying the elixir. 

For a few moments, it brought us back forty years. Isabel frequently asked about her siblings, especially those that have already died. Intermittently, she asked where they were, as if she expected them for dinner. Deep down, particularly having just received Last Rites, part of her probably knows they are setting a place for her.

When Izzy returned, we chatted a few minutes with the nurse. The prognosis at this point is days rather than weeks. My cousin expected the news and accepted it with grace, as tears covered her face. I offered Izzy whatever she needs, knowing it’s something no one can provide. 

As I turned back to my frail aunt, I gave her my best and said goodbye. I reached out and gave Isabel an extended hug that was warmly reciprocated. For half a minute, she didn’t let go…and I fought back a few tears.

But my shoulder didn’t hurt a bit.

JD