You turn 70 and, for a while at least, nothing seems all that different than 69. Age is just a number, like everyone said, you tell yourself. Then two months pass and you find yourself walking with a cane and sleeping on your not-hurting side with your head propped up and a contour pillow wedged between your knees.
All because of sciatica.
I’d heard the word before. But until my diagnosis, I’d never given sciatica a second thought. Truthfully, I didn’t really know what it was. I thought my daily hip twinges and the occasional discomfort all the way down to my ankle were signs that hip replacement was in the not-too-distant future. Then one fine morning, out of the blue, pain struck like a thunderbolt. I could hardly walk without yelping. There was no way to sit comfortably. I had to crawl on all fours up the stairs to my bedroom. Sleep was out of the question.
So I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. He looked at my x-rays and told me that, although I do have some arthritis in my left hip, I’m a long way from needing surgery. My ailment, he said, was sciatica. It’s pain that occurs when the sciatic nerve—the largest nerve in the human body, located in the lower back–becomes compressed. In many cases, including mine, intense pain begins in one buttock and radiates all the way down the corresponding leg. The doctor prescribed physical therapy, over-the-counter pain meds and time.
I went into serious medical research mode when I got home.
I learned that sciatica is sometimes called a “pinched nerve,” a perfect name for it. As I studied anatomical drawings and read descriptions of what it felt like, I knew for certain my diagnosis was correct. I made my first-ever appointment with a physical therapist, popped two Aleve and settled onto the couch with my lower left leg elevated and resting on a big bag of frozen peas. A box of Kleenexes was within easy reach because the pain was so bad it was hard not to cry.
These days I visit Chase, my knowledgeable and compassionate PT, three times a week. I do exercises—lower trunk rotation, open book, prone on elbows, hamstring stretch, calf stretch, prone press-up, cat-cow, bird dog, standing good morning and five minutes on the stationary bicycle—while I’m at the PT “gym.” I do the exercises at home, too, on a yoga mat in front of the TV. It was more fun when the NCAA tournaments were in full swing, but I’m managing to entertain myself without basketball. And the exercises do make me feel better.
I shopped online and ordered a contoured pillow. I also ordered an aluminum cane, which was available in several color choices. I picked purple. It was packaged with hilarious instructions, obviously written by a person who struggles a wee bit with English and common sense. DO NOT USE THIS DEVICE WHILE WALKING ACROSS POT HOLES, the instructions say. DO NOT LET A CHILD USE THIS DEVICE AS A GAME TOOL. A baseball bat, perhaps? A hockey stick? A pool cue? Okay, I won’t.
I watched You Tube videos to learn to walk with it. Grasping the cane with my right hand, I move it forward in sync with my left foot. Then I move my right foot forward, as though I were walking normally, and repeat until I reach my destination. It sounds way easier than it is. But practicing gave me lots of laughs.
The bad news is that the contoured pillow was a total bust. I chose one without a strap because I thought a strap would complicate things mightily whenever I wanted to turn over or get out of bed. Big mistake. The pillow falls out of place as soon as I fall asleep.
The good news is that it’s shaped like a heart, so at least I can use it to decorate the bed.
(April 12, 2025)
.