Some will sing praises of acpuncture and others say the placebo effect makes people feel less pain. Studies have shown that acupuncture has been helpful for low back pain. I tried it after I strained my lower back (Quadratus Laborum) muscles last fall and believe that the needles helped release the trigger points (muscle knots) that had formed in my low back. Several small needles placed at strategic points of the body are supposed increase the body's opioid response. Makes sense to me.
I recently strained my QL muscles again and physical therapy, massage, and chiropractic have had minimal effect. Some claim that acupuncture is too expensive, but I say that I paid out more in insurance copays to get pain relief than I probably would have by seeing an acupuncturist
I understand the concern about cost. Some acupuncturists charge $65 to $75 for a first visit. I managed to find a decent doc that charges $55. Most health insurances don't cover acupuncture because it doesn't guarantee good results. Perhaps insurers could cover treatment if a patient has tried other modalities without luck. If a pain problem is currently unresolvable because of a chronic condition, acupuncture may be the only hope for pain relief.
A post that appeared on a website in my city, received a number of positive responses about acupuncture that also mentioned recommended practitioners.
http://alloveralbany.com/archive/2011/09/26/a-good-acupuncture-place
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Healing Sore QL Muscles
I never had low back pain but was feeling quite sore after I cleaned out several rooms of my mother's house. I didn't hurt immediately but was very sore and stiff when I woke up the next morning. The first time I had the problem, it was relieved by a physical therapist who used ultrasound (deep heat).
Another visit to clean out the rest of my childhood home left my low back sore and stiff again. Several visits to the physical therapist didn't take care of the problem the second time and I tried a few sessions of massage with some luck. Then we had to move.
"Here we go again," I thought.
My massage therapist explained that my QL (Quadratus Laboreum) was the culprit. "It's the moving mucscle," she said. "It's the muscle that lifts your leg." She also went on to say that the muscle can be strained if you bend and twist at the same time or bend at certain angles repetitively. In my case, I kept bending my upper torso at a 45-degree angle to sort through piles of paper and tupperware.
Two rounds of Swedish Massage helped but the muscle still stiffened when I sat for longer than an hour. Another massage therapist recommended using a technique called myofascial release to gently and adequately stretch the muscle. As she stretched the muscle with both hands, I felt the individual muscle fibers separate and release.
I'm feeling better but the jury is still out on whether or not my latest massage will produce lasting results. I'll keep moving and swimming to keep my muscles more limber in the meantime.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Remembering My Childhood Home
The reality of my mother's death didn't really sink in until I saw the Remax Realty property sign on the lawn of my childhood home in last August. I knew selling the white-sided ranch would make me cry for days and even weeks. I felt so safe and comfortable amidst the pillows and fluff in my old bedroom when I visited my mother in Central New York. Now, my visits will either be cut down to a few hours or require that I wake up to the sound of cars and trucks passing my hotel on the boulevard.
I sat in the house alone Thanksgiving morning, remembering the buzz and laughter that came from the kitchen on Christmas Eve. The 8 x 10" room would be taken over by a large oblong table laden with several fish dishes, a large antipasto, my father's spaghetti with anchovy sauce, Aunt Sonja's macaroni and cheese, and a tray piled with my mother's Christmas cookies--chocolate and cherry bon bons, pecan meltaways, soft Italians, sugar candy canes, and many more.
I also remember the sight of my father standing in a trench that he dug to extend the back patio as my mother cooked and baked to Simon and Garfunkel tunes.
The house sold at the height of the Christmas season and I stressed about having to empty the contents of it by January 15. I brought back carloads of vestiges of the past--including mom's World War II-era Homer Laughlin china, myriad doylys, photo albums, and recipes. I also took the Oneida Silver and other things I didn't need for fear that I would lose them forever to the estate sale crowd.
Selling my childhood home has led me to a greater appreciation for the sweet snapshots of time -- my husband teasing our eight-year-old cat and talking to the canary. Our apartment, which looks like a Pier One showcase, buzzes with friends and well-wishers during our annual holiday party and provides moments of solitude on lazy Sunday afternoons. The living room fills with light from the east that fades beautifully over an ornate, gray church steeple in the west. One door closes, another opens. And that makes me smile.
I sat in the house alone Thanksgiving morning, remembering the buzz and laughter that came from the kitchen on Christmas Eve. The 8 x 10" room would be taken over by a large oblong table laden with several fish dishes, a large antipasto, my father's spaghetti with anchovy sauce, Aunt Sonja's macaroni and cheese, and a tray piled with my mother's Christmas cookies--chocolate and cherry bon bons, pecan meltaways, soft Italians, sugar candy canes, and many more.
I also remember the sight of my father standing in a trench that he dug to extend the back patio as my mother cooked and baked to Simon and Garfunkel tunes.
The house sold at the height of the Christmas season and I stressed about having to empty the contents of it by January 15. I brought back carloads of vestiges of the past--including mom's World War II-era Homer Laughlin china, myriad doylys, photo albums, and recipes. I also took the Oneida Silver and other things I didn't need for fear that I would lose them forever to the estate sale crowd.
Selling my childhood home has led me to a greater appreciation for the sweet snapshots of time -- my husband teasing our eight-year-old cat and talking to the canary. Our apartment, which looks like a Pier One showcase, buzzes with friends and well-wishers during our annual holiday party and provides moments of solitude on lazy Sunday afternoons. The living room fills with light from the east that fades beautifully over an ornate, gray church steeple in the west. One door closes, another opens. And that makes me smile.
Labels:
holli rossi murphy,
loss,
middle age,
midlife,
orphan
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Confessions of a Mid-Life Orphan
I got the call that most mid-lifers dread. "Holli, it's your brother. Call me ASAP." I could barely catch my breath before I rushed to call him back.
Two rings later, my brother picks up and says, "Mom's Gone."
"O my God. What do you mean she's gone? I'll be out there tomorrow morning."
The week of my mother's graveside service moved at lightening speed as I scurried to make arrangements and contact relatives and friends to tell them of the news.
Burying my mother was the worst thing I have ever had to do. I cried every time I looked at her cherry red PT Cruiser in the driveway and felt out of sorts because I no longer had anyone older than I to depend on. I realized that I had become an orphan over night. My mother was a stable force who offered encouragement when I was going through personal or job difficulties. She encouraged me to try to be an enlightened step parent and loaded me up with Italian food and homemade cookies that reminded me of the carefree days at home.
There would not be any more Sunday phone calls, Easter cards, or Utica-style halfmoon cookies. The world felt like a lonely place my mother's raspy voice. To help compensate for the loss, I grabbed my favorite recipes, hoping that I would be up to the task when the dust settled. Unfortunately, it has been almost a year and I haven't made so much as a simple sugar cookie.
Recommended Reading: Midlife Orphan by Jane Brooks
Two rings later, my brother picks up and says, "Mom's Gone."
"O my God. What do you mean she's gone? I'll be out there tomorrow morning."
The week of my mother's graveside service moved at lightening speed as I scurried to make arrangements and contact relatives and friends to tell them of the news.
Burying my mother was the worst thing I have ever had to do. I cried every time I looked at her cherry red PT Cruiser in the driveway and felt out of sorts because I no longer had anyone older than I to depend on. I realized that I had become an orphan over night. My mother was a stable force who offered encouragement when I was going through personal or job difficulties. She encouraged me to try to be an enlightened step parent and loaded me up with Italian food and homemade cookies that reminded me of the carefree days at home.
There would not be any more Sunday phone calls, Easter cards, or Utica-style halfmoon cookies. The world felt like a lonely place my mother's raspy voice. To help compensate for the loss, I grabbed my favorite recipes, hoping that I would be up to the task when the dust settled. Unfortunately, it has been almost a year and I haven't made so much as a simple sugar cookie.
Recommended Reading: Midlife Orphan by Jane Brooks
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Unemployed but Overcommitted
I couldn't wait for our week-long trip to Fort Lauderdale to get away from the circus I call my life. Though I have been unemployed for seven months, I have barely had time to catch my breath between job interviews, volunteer commitments, and requests from people who think I have more time to donate to their cause.
Potential employers who suspect a loss of motivation amongst the unemployed, are quick to test the waters, asking, "So what have you been doing for the last seven months?" I write grant proposals part time and work at the Saratoga County Animal Shelter cat annex 1-2 days a week. Add an hour here and an hour there to sit on event planning committees, attend networking mixers, and go to job interviews. Our elderly neighbor, who is in the early stages of Alzheimer's, has deemed me as her first contact for miscellaneous errands and to talk about her distress over the aliens working in the basement. My adult stepson makes several distress calls because he is unemployed and recently out of a relationship.
I wish I could say that being unemployed is less stressful than working. But for me, unemployment has has meant a fragmented schedule with frequent interruptions and less time and energy for personal hobbies. Looking for a job in this economy is almost a full-time job riddled with energy-draining disappointments. Working offers focus, challenge and an excuse for saying "no" to superfluous requests.
Potential employers who suspect a loss of motivation amongst the unemployed, are quick to test the waters, asking, "So what have you been doing for the last seven months?" I write grant proposals part time and work at the Saratoga County Animal Shelter cat annex 1-2 days a week. Add an hour here and an hour there to sit on event planning committees, attend networking mixers, and go to job interviews. Our elderly neighbor, who is in the early stages of Alzheimer's, has deemed me as her first contact for miscellaneous errands and to talk about her distress over the aliens working in the basement. My adult stepson makes several distress calls because he is unemployed and recently out of a relationship.
I wish I could say that being unemployed is less stressful than working. But for me, unemployment has has meant a fragmented schedule with frequent interruptions and less time and energy for personal hobbies. Looking for a job in this economy is almost a full-time job riddled with energy-draining disappointments. Working offers focus, challenge and an excuse for saying "no" to superfluous requests.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Nickled and Dimed at 49
Losing a job in your late 40's creates a great sense of loss--of identity, of security, and of purpose that is compounded by worries about the ability to save for retirement. Loss of income is especially stressful because unemployment benefits barely cover the bills let alone the costs of looking for a job. A career coach or counselor can cost $50 to $500 per hour and networking events in my area cost $5 -$40.This is not to mention the reams of paper, business card stock and Inkjet cartridges that I have had to purchase for snail mail responses.
I write grant proposals as a contractor but I lose a day of unemployment for each day I work and my work is taxed at 15 percent by Uncle Sam. I
Appeal letters from local and national charities pour through the mail slot and I have received several calls from the Fraternal Order of Police. Even though I explain that I'm unemployed and can't give right now, some callers quickly brush past my response and back into their "but you'll be helping the families" appeal.
Obama was on the mark when he said, "It's every man for himself" when he was campaigning. The rich want tax breaks; charities want more donors; and the retailers want us to spend what we don't have on stuff we don't need to support shareholder demands for more profit. Meanwhile, my husband just asked if we're going to give each other three presents for Christmas this year.
Maybe we need to take a deep breath and consider how the global economic meltdown has changed our reality and look to a different model of economics because the current one is clearly unsustainable. How can anyone hope for more profits and more money while unemployment rate hovers at 10 percent? If I can't afford to bake cookies, how can I afford to pay $50 to attend a gala to support cancer research?
I don't want to be the Grinch who stole Christmas but I'm beginning to feel like Jimmy Stuart in "It's a Wonderful Life" and could use a little charity myself.
I write grant proposals as a contractor but I lose a day of unemployment for each day I work and my work is taxed at 15 percent by Uncle Sam. I
Appeal letters from local and national charities pour through the mail slot and I have received several calls from the Fraternal Order of Police. Even though I explain that I'm unemployed and can't give right now, some callers quickly brush past my response and back into their "but you'll be helping the families" appeal.
Obama was on the mark when he said, "It's every man for himself" when he was campaigning. The rich want tax breaks; charities want more donors; and the retailers want us to spend what we don't have on stuff we don't need to support shareholder demands for more profit. Meanwhile, my husband just asked if we're going to give each other three presents for Christmas this year.
Maybe we need to take a deep breath and consider how the global economic meltdown has changed our reality and look to a different model of economics because the current one is clearly unsustainable. How can anyone hope for more profits and more money while unemployment rate hovers at 10 percent? If I can't afford to bake cookies, how can I afford to pay $50 to attend a gala to support cancer research?
I don't want to be the Grinch who stole Christmas but I'm beginning to feel like Jimmy Stuart in "It's a Wonderful Life" and could use a little charity myself.
Labels:
holli rossi,
loss,
mid-life blog,
unemployment
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Internships for Adults
If you're trying to change careers, it can be tough to get a job without experience. According to Monster.com, internships for adults are on the rise, but finding one is a job in itsself. Some places to look include:
It's never to late to follow your heart and gaining necessary experience may only be a few sentences or a phone call away.
Read an article about adult internships on Monster.com.
- The Peterson's Guide to Internships
- College job boards
- Craigslist
- Monster.com
It's never to late to follow your heart and gaining necessary experience may only be a few sentences or a phone call away.
Read an article about adult internships on Monster.com.
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