The Rule of Three

Did you ever notice that if the dishwasher leaks and the toilet overflows, a third thing is bound to break down? Say it’s outside—a sprinkler head starts shooting like Old Faithful, the lawn mower stalls—just wait for it. Well, I found today the same is true of medical issues. And for me, 2017 has been the year of three, the year when my body suddenly aged all at once. I’m hoping my spirit stayed intact or, at least, resilient.

A year and a half ago, I was sailing through life pretty well, telling myself I was doing fine for a woman in her late seventies. But then, that back pain got worse and the hip pain—and then I couldn’t walk easily. In January 2017, as some of you know, I had a total hip revision—all that pain was finally, belatedly, diagnosed as a completely deteriorated hip.

I started off 2017 with extensive hip surgery on January 17. The surgeon essentially built me a new hip. Much of the following months went simply to recovery, rebuilding. At this writing I still cannot walk without a walker or a strong arm, but I am doing better each day. Lots of exercise and positive thinking. Writing again. In fact, I published two books since the surgery.

So I was sailing along again, patting myself on the back because I’d done so well with this rather difficult hip surgery. Went to the doctor one day in early September because I got so out of breath when I practiced walking. Next thing I knew I was in the ER and then the hospital for five days, with atrial fibrillation. Do not pass go, do not go home first. I sent a friend to get some things from the cottage, including my computer, and she said Sophie glared at her, her eyes saying, “You are not my mother. What did you do with my mother?”

Home again, and just recently getting my oomph back after adjusting to the idea of a cardiac problem and the new medications. Thought I was doing well, and in my ignorant bliss forgot about the rule of three. Wait for it.

Last week I developed some lines in one eye that I saw when I lay down or tilted my head back. Today an ophthalmologist confirmed what I wondered about—the implant lens in that eye, from long-ago cataract surgery, has moved out of place. Eye surgery in my immediate future, though we haven’t scheduled it yet. That happens next week.

So that’s it. That’s my three, and I’m done. Clear sailing and good health from now on. You may cross your fingers for me if you wish, just in case. Me? I’m knocking on wood.