I have been to hell and back. I am still in shock that back pain can be so life-altering. I got an epidural injection last Friday morning and thought I’d be out with my dancing shoes on that night. Sorely, sorely, mistaken.
When I returned home to an empty house to rest the eight hours the doctor suggested, I felt fine. I read over the papers I was sent home with. Pain may worsen for 1-2 days after injection. What? Impossible. How could the pain get worse than this?
I did not believe them. But they sure did know what they were talking about. I woke up Saturday morning in so much damn pain. I couldn’t even move. Unbelievable. I had plans for Saturday night that included lots of wine. Not going to happen. I did however, take enough pain pills to kill a horse.
Each morning since has been a little better and today I am really feeling the best I have in weeks. I just still can’t wrap my head around how all of this happened. I did not fall or have any other sort of injury. It just happened. To me. A young thirty-seven year old. In the prime of her life!
My good buddy, Ike, who is only half an orphan, so I only sort of half like him, had a similar situation a few years ago. He was kind enough to tell me that I was thirty-seven now and basically old and things are starting to fall apart. He also suggested perhaps being well-endowed is the problem. And he was the first to suggest that. It does make sense. He also gave me great advice on how to stretch and take care of my back from here on out. And for all of this, I’m eternally grateful to my boy Ike.
After being laid up in bed for five full days, I started to get really worried. About the psychological effects, my not being present, was having on my children. Just kidding. My girls weekend, to celebrate cousin Boo making forty, was coming up. I could not miss this. I started to think about it, though. Being in Michigan with an all adult ensemble would probably be way easier than being home with four kids.
Later that night, I was discussing with Beau. I made mention of my thoughts. The next day, Beau suggested I go to Michigan because I could get way more rest there, than I could here. See what I did there? Great idea, Beau! My dad was a genius.
The only perk of this entire ordeal was being able to hire my cleaning lady back. I have been in pain for five weeks, my house was up for grabs. I called my beloved Helen and told her I needed her. She already knew about my back problems, because naturally Aunt Batsy had called her to tell her. Nothing weird about that.
So it was awesome. I was feeling well enough to go sit on the deck as the ladies got down to business inside my house. I just couldn’t bring myself to lay in bed as they cleaned around me. And then Shelly stops by. I was excited to see her and have some adult interaction, but Shel was in a big hurry. One of her kids was sick and she had to get going. We smooched and she was off. Two minutes later she’s coming back up my driveway. She needs to know who the red car belongs to across the street. This can’t be good.
Of course she was asking because she had just smashed into it backing out of my driveway. Shelly said, but it’s not big deal. As soon as the car was in my line of vision, I could see her “no big deal” all over the back drivers-side door. According to Shelly it was just a little scratch. It was not. There was a huge dent visible from quite a distance.
Now keep in mind Shelly was in a huge hurry, obvi. She said go ask your cleaning ladies if it’s theirs and if it is I’ll be right back. So I have the pleasure of trying to communicate through a language barrier that their car had just been hit by my cousin. It was a lot of me making the gesture of spinning my finger pointing to my head, saying sorry she’s crazy! She’ll be right back with the info.
Now my concern was that they wouldn’t do a great job of cleaning because they were all pissed that Shelly wrecked their car. I should have waited until they were finished cleaning to tell them. Lesson learned.
And now on to my beloved Beau. He decides in the midst of my back crisis that he’s finally going to give contact lenses a go. His twelve year-old niece had just made the switch to contacts, so the pressure was on.
Beau came home from the eye doctor all smiles. He came into our bedroom, where I was bedridden, to show me he had contacts in his eyes. I was thrilled. Eye roll. I have been wearing contacts for close to thirty years.
The next morning, mind you I’m in some major pain here, Beau wakes me up before 7am. A full three hours before I normally rise. He’s panicked. He was trying to put his contacts in and one went flying off his eye lashes. What in God names am I supposed to do about it? So I fall out of bed, because I still have no feeling in the left leg, and go downstairs to help him look for it.
We could not find it. I told Beau, don’t worry, it’s okay. It was an accident, you didn’t mean for it to happen. We’ll just have to get you another pair. Double Eye Roll. So Beau, being a grown-ass man, has to do with walk of shame back to the eye doctor and tell them he had already lost one. Since then, two days ago, he’s been doing great with the lenses and I couldn’t be more proud of him. You go Beau!
So all’s well that ends well. I am going to my girls weekend. Wine is really what my back has been craving. I still wonder if the pain was my bulging discs or alcohol withdrawal. I’m guessing a little of both. All I know for sure is that in a few short hours I won’t be able to feel my left leg, or any other party of my body. And for that I’m grateful.