Blogging On My Knees
Since December I’ve been a physical mess. First I had a stress fracture in my left foot and spent a week in a boot. It was sexy, especially when I wore dresses. After that I started to feel better, walking for exercise and then hiring a trainer. But my back and left hip were still sore, especially in the morning. So we bought a new mattress and I started seeing a chiropractor. I started to see results from working out with my trainer after just 2 weeks – inches gone everywhere, fit back into my “regular” size jeans (as opposed to “fat” or “skinny” jeans, the ladies know what I’m talking about) – but my back was really hurting. Finally, after my trip to Seattle a few weekends ago, it gave out completely.
It still hurts.
Over the years I’ve tried chiropractic, physical therapy, heat, ice, stretching, Vicodin, ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, another drug I can’t quite remember the name of, massage, meditation, hot tubs, and long bouts of whining. Nothing is making this better. I’m miserable. I can barely sit still long enough to write a blog post, but I need you, blog. That’s what I am writing this, literally, on my knees.
Recently I hired a physical therapist to come to my house and give me the works. She analyzed my gait and posture and breathing and gave me a few adjustments that are meant to fix me, for good. She even did a consultation the other night via Skype. She can tell just by looking at me for 2 seconds where it hurts. I am actually praying that if I do everything she tells me, I truly will get better.
The other night a friend of mine had bizarre round bruises all over her bare back. It was from cupping. Cupping! She said it feels really good, and it’s done at the acupuncturist’s office. Both of those methods of rebalancing and pain control have heretofore seemed to bizarre to me but at this point I’ll try anything. Even voodoo.
I’m sick of whining about my body. When people ask me how I’m doing in that casual way we greet each other, I can never say “Fine” truthfully. At any given moment something hurts. It hampers everything I do – my travels, my work, my play, my energy level, my housekeeping (ha!), my frolicking with the kids, my cooking, and look, even my words. During the day I continuously check the clock to see when it’s okay for me to take more pain relievers. As soon as the kids go to bed I start adding alcohol. This morning I found myself looking wistfully at the vodka, wishing for 5pm to come sooner.
I believe there are people who would say that’s a problem. To those people I would say “Suck it. My back hurts.”