The Organ Recital
A friend recently introduced me to this funny phrase.
I have always loved organs. I took formal lessons through high school and became reasonably good at playing. But I did not keep it up and soon enough the skill faded. On a recent trip to Philadelphia, my partner and I visited the Wanamaker Building and what is now a Macy’s department store.
The custom-built Wanamaker Organ is the largest fully functional pipe organ in the world with 28,750 pipes built into the building, six manuals or keyboards, and double foot pedals. Performances are offered twice daily. The sound is glorious, filling the cavernous grand court of the building and store.
Unfortunately, this is not the type of organ my friend had in mind.
It seems that every time we get together, he and I spend the first few minutes — or longer on some days — checking in with each other on matters relating to health. He and I are about the same age, at or approaching seventy. We discuss our latest doctor visits, blood pressure issues, arthritic hands, and “guy" health matters, hence the phrase “organ recital.”
I had always thought of myself as a young man with few health problems. Even heart surgery three years ago to replace a worn-out valve did not shake my stubborn “young man” attitude. But last year I began to wonder if this may be an overly optimistic assessment. Was I deluding myself at my age to think I was still young? Gym workouts two-to-three times a week, long walks, riding my bikes — I was active and felt strong.
But at the end of that summer, I got a little too cocky and took on a couple of very challenging road cycling rides with another friend, a fellow who is a very strong rider. The first ride was not too bad. We averaged 15.4 miles per hour on a hilly route — just pouring it on. The following week, we varied the route and encountered some very serious hills, and I struggled badly as he waited for me at the top of each hill. It was painful, both physically and emotionally. I returned home and hung up my road bike. I haven’t touched it since.
Skip ahead almost a year, and I found myself in Washington DC on a Peace Walk with my Mindfulness Practice Center brothers and sisters. There were thirty some-odd peace walks around the USA all on the same day. In DC, we had gathered with four other regional Mindfulness Centers and performed a slow, meditative walk about a mile along the Mall to the Capitol Building. It was a powerful experience on a very hot day. Unfortunately, meditative walking or kinhin is hard on the legs as it requires balancing on each leg while stepping mindfully with the other.
At the end of the peace walk, a friend and I headed toward a Metro station to travel back home, and I was limping badly. My left leg felt as if it was dragging as I walked. Of course, I rested the leg at home and fairly quickly felt like I had recovered. But just two weeks later, something — and I’m still not certain what —triggered the problem again, only this time my leg became very painful. I found myself unable to walk. Even sleep became challenging because I could not stretch out the injured leg.
My partner was out of town on her extended meditation retreat, so I asked one of our neighbors to help me get to an urgent care center. The doctor there examined me and gave me the good news. There was no obvious spinal damage nor any obvious damage to the knee as far as she could tell. She recommended a CT scan and for me to see my primary care team as soon as possible. “Probably IT band,” she said, “a sports injury.”
Iliotibial Band Syndrome, ITBS or “IT Band.” The IT band extends from the hip to the knee along the outside of the thigh, the largest piece of fascia in the human body, and works to stabilize large muscles at both ends.
I would soon learn that this was a common injury for cyclists and runners alike, and notoriously painful. The CT scan was clear: no fractured bones or damaged vertebrae. Just over-use. The doctor’s instructions: REST. No walking, cycling, running, etc. She gave me printouts for home physical therapy exercises but warned me not to begin until I was walking without pain. Expect six to eight weeks for recovery.
Ugh.
As I write this, I am about two-thirds of the way along by my (probably overly optimistic) estimate. It’s crazy, but as it heals, I can sometimes feel the IT band connection to my hip, a tingling I previously and erroneously thought was a lower back muscle. My food intake has dropped to two very small meals a day, I am resting as instructed, and I bought a cane! The only upside is that I am writing more, always a good thing.
The cane was a tough nut. I ordered it online so as not to go out and not to stand before a store clerk with an “old man” sign around my neck. Once I started walking again I had to learn how to use the damn thing.
I have just about a month before a planned vacation trip to England. I can do this! Keep the chin up old chap. We need to be optimistic. Even if I am not young anymore — rot! Plus, when I saw my organ recital buddy recently, at least I had something new to recite.
Vic Caldarola is the founder and lead facilitator of the Shine a Light Men’s Project, and a member of the Still Water Mindfulness Practice Center in Maryland. He holds a PhD in Communications Studies.
