Pookie comes home, and the MRI doesn't lie

When your babysitter for your kindergartner and second-grader tells you she's going on vacation for two weeks, you naturally go into full-on panic mode and scramble to line up backup sitters and wonderful friends to cover the staggered, multi-location summer camp dropoffs and pickups. 

And you take a few of those warm, summer days off of work to cover the gap. 

Oh darn, I guess I will have to take ANOTHER sunny day off.

That worked out fortuitously last week. As my little campers were marching off to their day camps Thursday, my 23-year-old son was coming home to Chicago.

For real.

When he was little, I called him "pookie bear" after Garfield's favorite stuffed animal. (Remember when Garfield was huge in the 90s?) 

This popped into my mind as I had just dropped my second camper, my daughter, that morning. I was heading to the Divvy station (my total new obsession -- bike-sharing is brilliant!) and my phone rang. He had driven all night (much to my motherly dismay) and was parked in front of my house, waiting for me to let him in. 

And to unload some of his possessions, because after five years in Iowa, he was returning home. 

I biked home as fast as I could, thinking, wow. This is really happening.

Pookie is coming home.

When I got home, we started moving the half dozen crates and tubs of possessions into the house. A box of trophies. (Heart melting a little. Loved his Welles Park sports days). Albums and CDs. Collection of frisbees. (laughing a little at this, such as 23-year-old.)

Five years ago this summer, I helped him pack up all this stuff to move out and head to Iowa for college, and closer to his father. I remembered how much and how hard I cried for days after that. OK, weeks.

Few things have been harder than watching my child move away for good.

I lost count of how many people who told me to watch out, your kids come back. And you're not done with parenting or helping them just because they're old enough to vote or legally drink.

That has turned out to be true.

We'll see how this goes -- it's a temporary stop, him living with us again, until he lands a job and can swing his own place.

But I am so, so, so happy. My baby's home.

***

My running has kind of sucked this year. Something in my right hip hates me. It has felt stuck for ages, despite physical therapy. I ran my shittiest marathon in May because of this stuff. (Which I shouldn't have run, but I am ridiculously pig-headed.)

I finally went in for my first-ever MRI last Monday. Within a day, I had this response from my doc: 

"Dr. _______ would like you to rest from running for 6 weeks.  Your MRI showed some tendinopathy and a partial tendon tear.  There was also swelling in your iscial tuberosity, "Sits" bone where the tendon attaches under your glute.  There was also some incidental degenerative changed in your lumbar spine and pubic symphasis.  Please do not hesitate to call or email with any questions, comments, or concerns."

I'm a civilian, and that sounded scary. What?!

Fortunately, one of my college roommates and best friends is a doctor. I texted her: "Hey, Mary, want to read my MRI results and tell me how much I should freak out?"

Within 10 minutes, she had called me. "Hey, you tore your hamstring tendon!" Fortunately, it is a "very slight" tear. She said all of the other scary sounding stuff is just the body reacting to the injury.

She was firm: Rest. Don't run. Let this heal and you'll be fine.

So, that's a relief. Now I know why running has sucked, and why that marathon sucked.

I can do any other physical activity -- biking, weights, step class. None of those hurt. So I'm lucky, because if I couldn't do anything I would lose my mind. 

But I'm still really bummed. I love running. It's my social life. 

I had already given up on the idea of running my first 50-miler this October given the hip stuff, hoping for a marathon race instead. Not sure if that's going to happen.

I feel silly feeling this way, when people are really suffering from real maladies and problems. But it feels kind of lonely.

On the plus side, my house is now cleaner than normal and I'm more rested from not getting up at 4:30 a.m. daily.

37 days until August 24... :-)