Bone of My Bones and Flesh of My Flesh

On Saturday, I received a "bad news" e-mail from my brother-in-law. My sister, Barbara (not one of my three half-sisters), tripped and broke her femur (upper thigh bone), She was in the hospital, scheduled for surgery on Sunday morning. Barbara's was a "low energy" fracture, caused by slight trauma such as a bump or a fall, rather than a major trauma, such as a car accident. Still, it was more than a hairline fracture. The bone fragments were misaligned, so she was in surgery longer than anticipated. The surgeon said the bone was "dense, but brittle."

As soon as I received Ron's e-mail, I remembered news releases about fractured femurs in women who had been on Fosamax ("Fossil-max," as Phil calls it) for many years. I've been on Fosamax or its generic form for over 12 years.

Although anyone in the world could tell at a glance that Barbara and I are sisters, we are not clones of each other. Barbara, who is two years younger than I,  was diagnosed with osteopenia (thinning bones) about five years ago and started taking Fosamax then. I was diagnosed with osteoporosis when I went off hormone replacement therapy (HRT) on a whim about 12 years ago because of annoying side effects. A bone scan showed advanced osteoporosis at age 57, despite my having been on HRT for seven years! My case was considered so serious that I was urged to resume HRT, so for about 3 or 4 years, I was on both Fosamax and Premarin. Then, in 2002, the bad news came out about HRT and I quit hormone therapy abruptly, but continued taking Fosamax. Two or three bone density scans have shown only a marginal improvement. However, there has been no further bone loss in hip or spine, which is cause for celebration.

A class-action suit has been brought against Merck, the manufacturer of Fosamax, by women suffering sudden "low energy" fractures like my sister's.  Barbara is considering joining the suit, not for the money, but to bolster the statistics. She said that the patient-information literature mentions pain as a possible side effect,  but does not tell the patient to contact her doctor immediately. Barbara had experienced severe pain in her left thigh for months. When I saw her at our niece's wedding in August, she was limping badly. The doctor could find no reason for her pain.

Yesterday I found this statement on the Internet, from a July 25, 2008  article in the New York Times: "Notably, studies suggest there is little extra benefit in taking the bone drugs more than five years."

ARGGGH. What to do? The slightest ache or pain in my legs is now making me paranoid. Broken hip or broken leg? Broken spine or broken leg?  Speak, Crystal Ball.

Off to Peek 'n Peak Tomorrow

Tomorrow I'm driving to Peek 'n Peak, a family resort in southwestern New York state, to attend my niece's wedding. I'm looking forward to a reunion with my four sisters. Three are actually half sisters, but they are all sisters to me.

First stop along the way will be Valencia, PA, to visit BF. She is the sweet woman who boarded a Greyhound near Pittsburgh three times during the past 18 months to come down to stay with Mom while the Tree Hugger and I went away for long weekends. I'm giving her Mom's service-for-six sterling silver.

We won't discuss politics. The last time the TH picked BF up at the bus station (October 2008), he said, "Might as well tell you. We have an Obama sign in our front yard."
"Oh, said she, "he's a Muslim."
"No, he's not."
"Yes,he is."
"So I suppose you're voting for McCain."
"Yes, but I'm not that crazy about him. I really like Sarah Palin though. If Hillary had won the nomination, I would have voted for her."

Since we won't be discussing politics, we won't be discussing health care reform either. BF has private insurance, but she's not happy with it. "They don't pay jackshit," she says.

Then on to Meadville, where I'll visit my 90-year-old Aunt Virginia, who's in the Assisted Living Center at Wesbury United Methodist Community. Aunt Virginia, who's about 90, lived alone until this June, when my cousin, Harry, realized that she was getting forgetful. Pots boiled dry on the stove, bills unpaid, etc. Mom and I used to stay with Aunt Virginia when we came up to Meadville so Mom could visit her friends. I wonder if Aunt Virginia will still recognize me.

Finally Peek 'n Peak. The wedding is Saturday evening. On Sunday, we'll regroup in Erie, PA, at the home of one of the sisters.

On Monday, my sister Barbara and I will visit our mothers' graves at Greendale Cemetery in Meadville. Both our birth mother and my stepmother are buried there. It will be the first time I've seen Mom's grave since her death in December. She's buried beside our dad. Our birth mother, who died ten years ago, is buried beside her second husband.

I'll be home by Monday night. Summer day camp will have ended for our grandson and school won't have started, so he'll be with me all week. Maybe we'll go see the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History.

The Whole Damn Dessert

I visited Mom one summer when she was in her 60's, about the age I am now. Mom wanted me to go with her to visit Edna, her older sister, who lived 90 miles away.

Aunt Edna was a pill. When we told her we were coming, she said irritably, "Don't expect me to give you lunch. I have nothing in the house!"

Mom replied, "We don't expect lunch, but we'll bring you a nice dessert."

Mom made a concoction typical of the 1970's: instant pudding on a graham-cracker crust, topped with a cloud of Cool Whip.

Aunt Edna and I were chatting in the living room while Mom was in the kitchen, getting ready to serve the dessert. "You don't suppose she's going to give a piece to Helen Ferguson, do you?" Aunt Edna asked. Helen had been Edna's next door neighbor for at least 40 years. Aunt Edna was always feuding with someone. She hadn't spoken to Helen for months because of an incident involving a dog and some dug-up tulips.

Before I could answer, Mom flew into the room in righteous fury, a Cool Whip-laden spatula in hand. She shook it at her sister furiously. "If I want to give the whole damn dessert to Helen Ferguson, I will!" she raged, and flew back to the kitchen before Aunt Edna could say a word.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Aunt Edna turned to me and arched her eyebrows. "Well!" she exclaimed.

Uncle Dan's Clocks

In his later years, one of Phil's uncles liked to take his collection of old clocks to weekend flea markets. It didn't really matter to Uncle Dan whether he sold a clock or not. He just liked to get out and meet people.

One day a customer asked Uncle Dan how much he wanted for the whole collection. Uncle Dan wasn't really interested in selling, so he named an outrageously high price. SOLD! To Uncle Dan's surprise, the customer pulled a wad of money from his pocket and paid cash on the spot.

No one knows if the loss of his clocks had anything to do with it, but within a year, Uncle Dan was dead.