Octogenarian

3 May

Is it just me, or have I had more than my fair share of being ill or otherwise out of sorts in the past year or so? First came that horrible, awfully swiney seeming flu that knocked me out in November, and it’s been all downhill since then. Currently, I’m bummed because tomorrow I was supposed to take a day trip to Montreal with the girls from work, but now I can’t go because I’ve thrown my extremely delicate back out yet again.

Fun fact: I’ve had trouble with my sciatic nerve since I was in my early 20s. This always struck me as being grossly unfair because although I am certainly not the most fit person in the world, I’m far from being the most unfit either, and yet I’m the one with the hardcore back problems. I’ve known people two or three times my size whose bodies are seemingly in better condition than mine, measurements notwithstanding. I’m not gonna lie, it’s inspired a pity party or two. I feel justified in that, though, since I’d compare the pain I feel in my back to the pain you’d endure in your mouth were you undergoing a complex dental procedure without anesthesia. A general throbbing ache complimented by the occasional pointed zing of an unexpectedly stimulated nerve.

I’m not entirely certain what kicked off my bouts of sciatica, although I have a vague sense that it can be traced back to my lone attempt at Tae Bo. I can, however, tell you with certainty what messed it up this time: I coughed.

Yeah.

It’s not even a good story! I was leaning over the sink, brushing my teeth, and I coughed, as I so often do when brushing my teeth. I heard something go “click!” in my back and suddenly what began as a pinprick of white hot pain started to bloom across my entire lower right hand side. It sucked. It sucked and it reduced me to tears immediately. And that’s how I threw out my back this time.

Lame, right?

I can’t leave you with a story that pathetic, so let me leave you with one that’s also pathetic, but hilarious as well.

The thing about sciatic nerve pain, for me anyway, is that it gets worse when you’re inactive. The pain actually lessens when I’m at work, up on my feet for seven or eight hours at a time, but it comes back tenfold after I’ve been sitting or lying down for a little while. Last night, I’d been lying in bed, trying to relax with a book. Eventually I realized that I really had to pee, so I got up to go to the bathroom. Only problem was, once I straightened my legs out into a comfortable standing position, I realized that I couldn’t move. If I tried to walk, I’d surely fall. When I tried to lie back down, the pain surged up to such a degree that I thought I might pass out or vomit or both. Plus lying back down wasn’t really an option because I did have to pee, remember. So all this time, Steve is lying flat on his back, earbuds jammed in his ears, snoring away, oblivious to the world. So I did what any desperate person in my situation would do: I looked around for projectiles. I settled on a couple of small stuffed animals that live on our bookshelf, which was conveniently standing right behind me (I’m glad the stuffies were there, in retrospect, because had they not been, my only option would have been to throw my books at Steve while he slept, and that just seems mean). I tossed my mustachioed pink rabbit at him. Nothing. My giraffe that has no discernible neck, and yet for some reason has extremely long legs, elicited the same vampire-asleep-in-his-coffin type of reaction. By this time I’m half-bawling, half-laughing. And by now I really have to pee. So what else could I do? I grabbed the corner of my pillow, dragged it toward myself, and started beating him silly with it. And it still took him a few moments to snap out of his dream. I’m telling you, that boy can sleep. As soon as he woke up, though, he bounded out of bed and escorted me to the washroom like a true gentleman.

Did I marry a great guy or what?

Sooo… yeah. All that to say, I don’t think I’m going to Montreal tomorrow. Sadface.

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