April's Fool

How about wine?

See, the funny thing about a back injury is that it's not really funny.  When a moderate fender bender has the propensity to send me into weeks of convalescence, the humor fades with brevity like no other.  Some days I can push the vacuum with purpose, other days, I need help putting on my pants.  It plays with my ego like a cat plays with a ball of yarn. 

I'm a mover.  I do not sit still very well.  I enjoy having a task ahead of me... it provides me with a sense of purpose and contribution.  Yet this naughty L4 and L5 thingy mocks me on the daily, taunting me with its spasms and stiffness and overall asshat-ed-ness.  Movement is minimal.

Here's a confession: I have grown to loathe the question "How are you?"... primarily because the truthful answer hasn't changed since 4/1/15. 

How am I?  Well, in pain... still.  I can sometimes get off the toilet with ease and I've learned how to pick up all manner of small objects with my toes.  Walking isn't terrible as long as it's not with my dog or anywhere near potential pitfalls.  Sitting is a possibility, but only for brief periods of time lest you wish to watch a 36 year old require 5 minutes to plan out the launch from the edge of the chair.  I've also learned that I prefer chairs with arms on them.  That way, I have some sort of leverage as the catapult takes place. 

As if this wasn't enough to tickle my "I can't stand this" fancy, let's throw a painful cyst in the mix too.  Now NOTHING is comfortable... not laying down, not sitting up... not even breathing at this point.  A tearful trip to the doctor resulted in additional pills. 



Hahahaha... uh, no.

Cue Spinal Tap, because now my pain is up to NUMBER ELEVEN.  Perhaps it was the universe's way of showing me what pain really is.  Okay.  I got it.  It only lasted 3 excruciating days.

Did you know that my breakfast is a smoothie with a handful of pills now?  If you know me, you know how foreign this is for this "I-gag-at-the-thought-of-taking-a-pill" girl.  Unless it's a pain pill... I tend to get over the fear quicker. 



I wanted to jump for joy when the cyst left my ailing body.  Except I can't jump. 

So I had a beer instead.


The hills are alive...

Cue seasonal allergies... I don't have allergies... except for now.  Now I have allergies.  My head wants to implode and my nose wants to fall off.  My eyes almost drifted from my head what with all the watery-ness, and my tonsils are kicking my ear drums with each cough.  Each cough jolts my injured back, and now my voice sounds like Fran Drescher. 


I'm actually looking forward to next week's MRI and nerve blocker.  Yes, please stick a giant needle in my spine.  Please shove me in a coffin-sized tube to take pictures of my innards.  I promise I'll remember to smile.