We have a "perfect storm" this week. It's me.
I'm just (hopefully) coming out of a bout with the flu - the feverish, whole body hurts, coughing up a lung, can't get out of bed kind - and what I would really love, and I don't care whether it would be good for me or not, is a Snickers bar and a Diet Dr. Pepper.
This morning, when I dragged myself out of bed to pick Rachel up from an overnighter with her Girl Scout troop (which I was incredibly sad to miss because of this stupid illness) all I wanted was to stop at Wesco and grab a big cup of cappuccino.
But I can't have coffee, or chocolate, or pop, or anything else containing caffeine, or even any "nighttime-type" medications that would help me sleep. Because late next week I begin allergy testing, and all of that stuff could somehow throw it off. Is what they tell me. Hmph.
So I'm following the rules, but I'm doing it with a grudge. Because seriously? Caffeine in it's many forms is a regular part of my daily life. As is Zyrtec, which I also cannot take this week.
I like to think I can take it like a champ when I'm sick. I'm pretty tough. But tell me I can't have chocolate? When I'm in a weak and emotional state? I'm like a 2-yr-old throwing a tantrum in the grocery store.
Alas, the asthma and/or allergies I've got made breathing these past few days all that harder, so I will do what needs to be done to figure out those underlying issues and take care of them.
Imagine how pissed I'm gonna' be if we find out I'm allergic to chocolate. ::shudder::
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Clean Slate Sunday: 12.16.12 broken heart edition
I can hardly believe the weekend is over already. I'm pretty sure that, other than when I was sleeping, I spent more time in my truck or otherwise away from the house than I did at home.
After the news on Friday of so many children being killed at their school in Newtown, CT, I will not grumble about shuffling my kids from one activity to another. My children are alive. They are here. And while we are all brokenhearted and still in a bit of shock, we need to continue to live. We need for things to be as normal as possible.
Make no mistake. I am not downplaying the tragedy at all. While I go about my usual business with my children there is a voice inside my head screaming at me that I should be curled up in the fetal position sobbing for those children lost and their families who now have to learn how to go on without them.
I don't even know any of those families, but just imagining their anguish would suck the life out of me if I let it. It's part of my makeup, this uber-emotionalism, and so I have learned to manage it and to recognize my limits. I spent much of Friday night flipping between news channels, devouring any new information about the shooting. The rest of the weekend I have focused on my own family - Rachel had activities with her Girl Scout troop both Saturday and today, and participated in the church Christmas program with her Sunday School class this morning. Sam spent much of the weekend at home battling bad guys on his PS3. We talked a bit. Hung out on the couch and watched movies. The usual. He's elated to be seeing the doctor tomorrow to (God willing) have the cast taken off his leg.
Normal, everyday stuff.
"I guess the world ain't gonna stop for my broken heart."
Those words from an old Reba McEntire song have been playing over and over in my mind these last few days. And it's true. Even though it feels like the world should stop sometimes, particularly when the loss is so great, so traumatic, and felt by so many ... life goes on.
In one week the love of my life will be home for Christmas. The kids will have their break from school, and we will enjoy some quality time as a family. But between now and then I will be sure to live every day, to continue to tell my children often how much I love them, and to pray for the mamas and daddies who can no longer hold their babies in their arms.
I wish you all a restful night, and a fresh start in the morning.
After the news on Friday of so many children being killed at their school in Newtown, CT, I will not grumble about shuffling my kids from one activity to another. My children are alive. They are here. And while we are all brokenhearted and still in a bit of shock, we need to continue to live. We need for things to be as normal as possible.
Make no mistake. I am not downplaying the tragedy at all. While I go about my usual business with my children there is a voice inside my head screaming at me that I should be curled up in the fetal position sobbing for those children lost and their families who now have to learn how to go on without them.
I don't even know any of those families, but just imagining their anguish would suck the life out of me if I let it. It's part of my makeup, this uber-emotionalism, and so I have learned to manage it and to recognize my limits. I spent much of Friday night flipping between news channels, devouring any new information about the shooting. The rest of the weekend I have focused on my own family - Rachel had activities with her Girl Scout troop both Saturday and today, and participated in the church Christmas program with her Sunday School class this morning. Sam spent much of the weekend at home battling bad guys on his PS3. We talked a bit. Hung out on the couch and watched movies. The usual. He's elated to be seeing the doctor tomorrow to (God willing) have the cast taken off his leg.
Normal, everyday stuff.
"I guess the world ain't gonna stop for my broken heart."
Those words from an old Reba McEntire song have been playing over and over in my mind these last few days. And it's true. Even though it feels like the world should stop sometimes, particularly when the loss is so great, so traumatic, and felt by so many ... life goes on.
In one week the love of my life will be home for Christmas. The kids will have their break from school, and we will enjoy some quality time as a family. But between now and then I will be sure to live every day, to continue to tell my children often how much I love them, and to pray for the mamas and daddies who can no longer hold their babies in their arms.
I wish you all a restful night, and a fresh start in the morning.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
When a good afternoon goes bad.
Poor Sam.
This kid has been riding a bicycle since he could walk, practically. He chucked those training wheels as soon as he could work a wrench to take 'em off. And he has made my heart skip a beat on countless occasions with his tricks and tumbles.
I wouldn't call him a daredevil, really. More like ... determined. He knows what he wants to do and he will try and try until he gets it right.
But Sunday afternoon he was just a teenage boy riding his bicycle around in the driveway when he popped a wheelie, the back tire hit a hole, and when he bailed off his body went one way while his bike - with his right foot caught between the pedal and the rear peg - went the other.
He told us he heard the snap.
I know. *shudder*
So Sam and I spent the evening and most of the night in hospitals and ambulances - first a ride to a local hospital, then a transfer to a children's hospital a miserable, bumpy, 1.5-hour drive away.
At any point in the night I would have gladly traded places with him so my kiddo didn't have to experience that kind of pain. But that second ambulance ride? Oh man. Talk about feeling helpless. It was definitely one of those moments when it would have been nice to have Steve here - a strong shoulder for me to lean on and the voice of comfort Sam really wanted. Because mom will do in a pinch, but he truly is daddy's boy. And I know that was hard for Steve, too. Hard to hear me tell him what happened, and then Sam's scared voice on the phone. But as parents we suck it up for our kids, don't we? We stay strong for them when it feels like we're dying inside. We offer them comfort when we feel like we don't really have any more to give.
Sam is now experiencing the pain of a broken bone. Two, in fact. Right above his ankle. At the children's hospital he was sedated and his leg was set back into place and splintered. Sometime within the next week we will go back to see an orthopedist who will put a cast on. The ortho doctor in the ER told us the cast will be up to Sam's thigh because the break involved the growth plate in his ankle so the entire leg needs to be immobilized to heal properly. He will likely have to have it on for at least 3-4 weeks.
Dude. That sucks.
He's been getting around on crutches pretty good, mostly between the couch and the bathroom. The last couple nights he has slept in my king size bed with me - it's just easier for him to get to the bathroom if he needs to, and I'm right there if he wakes up in pain or needs to adjust his position. And frankly, his room is a disaster so he'd probably break the other leg trying to maneuver around in there. I'm going to remedy that any day now. Right after I get a shower. And maybe wash some dishes.
The house may be a wreck, but my boy is fed and appropriately drugged. And as I write he is actually doing homework. Mom Of The Year? Come on, throw me a bone.
Speaking of bones ... this caring for a kid with a broken leg thing is 100 times harder with two dogs in the house. I would pay a million dollars for a fenced-in yard right now. Gunnar is totally freaked out by those crutches, and I'm sure Sam smells a little funky. Yeah. When we get around to getting him in the shower ... that should be interesting. I know how difficult it was for me when I had a broken ankle a few years ago, and I didn't have a cast/splint to keep dry.
And we're not even going to talk about the younger child who already feels like she gets the short end of the deal. *sigh* I am only one person.
If you are the praying sort, we sure could use some.
This kid has been riding a bicycle since he could walk, practically. He chucked those training wheels as soon as he could work a wrench to take 'em off. And he has made my heart skip a beat on countless occasions with his tricks and tumbles.
I wouldn't call him a daredevil, really. More like ... determined. He knows what he wants to do and he will try and try until he gets it right.
But Sunday afternoon he was just a teenage boy riding his bicycle around in the driveway when he popped a wheelie, the back tire hit a hole, and when he bailed off his body went one way while his bike - with his right foot caught between the pedal and the rear peg - went the other.
He told us he heard the snap.
I know. *shudder*
So Sam and I spent the evening and most of the night in hospitals and ambulances - first a ride to a local hospital, then a transfer to a children's hospital a miserable, bumpy, 1.5-hour drive away.
At any point in the night I would have gladly traded places with him so my kiddo didn't have to experience that kind of pain. But that second ambulance ride? Oh man. Talk about feeling helpless. It was definitely one of those moments when it would have been nice to have Steve here - a strong shoulder for me to lean on and the voice of comfort Sam really wanted. Because mom will do in a pinch, but he truly is daddy's boy. And I know that was hard for Steve, too. Hard to hear me tell him what happened, and then Sam's scared voice on the phone. But as parents we suck it up for our kids, don't we? We stay strong for them when it feels like we're dying inside. We offer them comfort when we feel like we don't really have any more to give.
Sam is now experiencing the pain of a broken bone. Two, in fact. Right above his ankle. At the children's hospital he was sedated and his leg was set back into place and splintered. Sometime within the next week we will go back to see an orthopedist who will put a cast on. The ortho doctor in the ER told us the cast will be up to Sam's thigh because the break involved the growth plate in his ankle so the entire leg needs to be immobilized to heal properly. He will likely have to have it on for at least 3-4 weeks.
Dude. That sucks.
He's been getting around on crutches pretty good, mostly between the couch and the bathroom. The last couple nights he has slept in my king size bed with me - it's just easier for him to get to the bathroom if he needs to, and I'm right there if he wakes up in pain or needs to adjust his position. And frankly, his room is a disaster so he'd probably break the other leg trying to maneuver around in there. I'm going to remedy that any day now. Right after I get a shower. And maybe wash some dishes.
The house may be a wreck, but my boy is fed and appropriately drugged. And as I write he is actually doing homework. Mom Of The Year? Come on, throw me a bone.
Speaking of bones ... this caring for a kid with a broken leg thing is 100 times harder with two dogs in the house. I would pay a million dollars for a fenced-in yard right now. Gunnar is totally freaked out by those crutches, and I'm sure Sam smells a little funky. Yeah. When we get around to getting him in the shower ... that should be interesting. I know how difficult it was for me when I had a broken ankle a few years ago, and I didn't have a cast/splint to keep dry.
And we're not even going to talk about the younger child who already feels like she gets the short end of the deal. *sigh* I am only one person.
If you are the praying sort, we sure could use some.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Dude. That was awesome.
I got a massage today. For one whole hour I left my phone in the truck, I left my cares behind, and I let Ms. Julia and her amazing hands do their magic.
OK, that sounds kinda' weird. And honestly, even though I had a massage one other time - five or six years ago when Steve got me a gift certificate for Christmas - I was a little intimidated by the whole idea and only sought out a masseuse again because the pain in my neck and lower back were so intense some nights I could hardly sleep. And girlfriend does not do well without her sleep. Also, repeated trips to the chiropractor (whom I adore) were not providing any lasting relief and the last time I saw him he told me - again - that massage would do me a world of good.
So, like anyprocrastinating busy mama would do, I thought about it for a couple days. And then I hit the Yellow Pages, checked some web sites and made a couple phone calls. I settled on the lady who has been doing this for 20 years. I figured she has seen it all, so she wouldn't bat an eye at anything I was gonna' lay out on that table, no matter how self-conscious I was.
Because really. Two pregnancies, several handfuls of extra pounds hanging on, and a bit of stress-induced wrinkling and flaking does not a bikini body make. And here I would be revealing it to someone I didn't even know.
I wish I could say that my self-consciousness melted away when I walked in that door. I wish I didn't have so many issues with feeling like I somehow don't deserve the luxury of having someone else take care of me - even if I am paying them to do it! But those issues have been a part of me for a long time and they weren't going to go away over a one-hour massage. I will say, though, that Julia made me feel as comfortable as I could about the whole thing. And I really, really did enjoy that massage.
What I was not prepared for was feeling so lousy by the time I got home. It was like someone had opened the floodgates and any junk - emotional, physical, psychological - I had been holding onto for God knows how long came rushing out my pores. My neck and shoulders felt so much better, and my lower back felt like I had had a good workout - sore, but in a good way. But when I got home I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. So I did.
When I woke from a long nap I felt refreshed. My body was (is) still a little tender, but I feel like I have hit the reset button. I feel ... good. Glad I did something for myself.
Ready to do a little more of it in the future.
OK, that sounds kinda' weird. And honestly, even though I had a massage one other time - five or six years ago when Steve got me a gift certificate for Christmas - I was a little intimidated by the whole idea and only sought out a masseuse again because the pain in my neck and lower back were so intense some nights I could hardly sleep. And girlfriend does not do well without her sleep. Also, repeated trips to the chiropractor (whom I adore) were not providing any lasting relief and the last time I saw him he told me - again - that massage would do me a world of good.
So, like any
Because really. Two pregnancies, several handfuls of extra pounds hanging on, and a bit of stress-induced wrinkling and flaking does not a bikini body make. And here I would be revealing it to someone I didn't even know.
I wish I could say that my self-consciousness melted away when I walked in that door. I wish I didn't have so many issues with feeling like I somehow don't deserve the luxury of having someone else take care of me - even if I am paying them to do it! But those issues have been a part of me for a long time and they weren't going to go away over a one-hour massage. I will say, though, that Julia made me feel as comfortable as I could about the whole thing. And I really, really did enjoy that massage.
What I was not prepared for was feeling so lousy by the time I got home. It was like someone had opened the floodgates and any junk - emotional, physical, psychological - I had been holding onto for God knows how long came rushing out my pores. My neck and shoulders felt so much better, and my lower back felt like I had had a good workout - sore, but in a good way. But when I got home I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. So I did.
When I woke from a long nap I felt refreshed. My body was (is) still a little tender, but I feel like I have hit the reset button. I feel ... good. Glad I did something for myself.
Ready to do a little more of it in the future.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Spring has sprung!
Wow! I just can't believe this weather we're having here in western Michigan. The whole of Michigan, really. We're breaking 100-yr-old records all over the place.
Today temperatures are expected to be in the 80's where we live. It's in the 60's and creeping higher already and the sun isn't even up yet. I have windows open to catch the cool breeze before it gets hot.
Yes. Eighty degrees is hot to this sister. I'm not a big fan of sweat and that's all I do when it's 80 degrees outside. This may be the year we spring for central air, especially if it gets hot and stays hot for the summer.
Sheesh, is it Tuesday already? We had a beautiful weekend, weather-wise, and not quite as busy as I had anticipated. Oh, there was plenty of running the kids to and fro, but after visiting the chiropractor Saturday morning I was relegated to the recliner with a heating pad for a couple days. No raking. No pulling weeds. No hauling debris. No lugging bags of mulch. Phooey. But my back had been bothering me for a few weeks and this was my second trip to see the chiro during that time and I decided it was best I follow his orders and give my body time to heal up. He said I had two ribs gone wonky which would explain why I felt like someone was digging their fingertips into my right side every time I moved a certain way.
This is for the birds. Today I'm feeling better than I felt Saturday morning, but definitely not 100 percent. I need to start doing Pilates or somethin'. Strengthen that core. I've got too much to do to sit here and watch the world go by.
But enough about that!
Spring break begins Friday. We had originally planned to go to PA to see Steve, but since he is changing jobs he'll be coming home and spending a few days with us, then he will have to be in Detroit (or somewhere near Detroit) on April 2nd. I'm excited. We are all ready for some time together as a family. I'd like to plan a few fun things to do with the kids, but I think we'll just let it ride and see what we feel like when next week rolls around.
And now it's getting lighter outside which I'm taking as my cue to get my body moving. A mama's work is never done.
Have a blessed day!
Today temperatures are expected to be in the 80's where we live. It's in the 60's and creeping higher already and the sun isn't even up yet. I have windows open to catch the cool breeze before it gets hot.
Yes. Eighty degrees is hot to this sister. I'm not a big fan of sweat and that's all I do when it's 80 degrees outside. This may be the year we spring for central air, especially if it gets hot and stays hot for the summer.
Sheesh, is it Tuesday already? We had a beautiful weekend, weather-wise, and not quite as busy as I had anticipated. Oh, there was plenty of running the kids to and fro, but after visiting the chiropractor Saturday morning I was relegated to the recliner with a heating pad for a couple days. No raking. No pulling weeds. No hauling debris. No lugging bags of mulch. Phooey. But my back had been bothering me for a few weeks and this was my second trip to see the chiro during that time and I decided it was best I follow his orders and give my body time to heal up. He said I had two ribs gone wonky which would explain why I felt like someone was digging their fingertips into my right side every time I moved a certain way.
This is for the birds. Today I'm feeling better than I felt Saturday morning, but definitely not 100 percent. I need to start doing Pilates or somethin'. Strengthen that core. I've got too much to do to sit here and watch the world go by.
But enough about that!
Spring break begins Friday. We had originally planned to go to PA to see Steve, but since he is changing jobs he'll be coming home and spending a few days with us, then he will have to be in Detroit (or somewhere near Detroit) on April 2nd. I'm excited. We are all ready for some time together as a family. I'd like to plan a few fun things to do with the kids, but I think we'll just let it ride and see what we feel like when next week rolls around.
And now it's getting lighter outside which I'm taking as my cue to get my body moving. A mama's work is never done.
Have a blessed day!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Apparently, I'd like to hibernate.
'Cept I'm gonna' need some elastic-waist pants before I settle in for my slumber.
Whoa, doggies! It's a little too early for the holiday plump, isn't it? I stepped on the scale this morning (like I needed that first thing in the morning) and what was already pretty obvious to my bloated self came into sharp, digital focus.
I've put on a few pounds.
OK, literally, a few. Like, four. And listen. I'm a big girl anyway so one would think four pounds either way wouldn't make much of a difference. But I can tell you that four lousy pounds feels like 100 pounds in certain pairs of pants.
Oooooh, the comfort food. Since the weather turned very autumn-like in a hurry I've been drawn to the oven and the big ol' containers of flour and sugar sitting nearby. Yesterday, on a whim, I made several dozen pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Ya' know ... for the kids. *wink wink*
Curse you, white flour and sugar!
And get this. I ordered a subscription to a new home decor magazine a while back? I guess there weren't enough subscriptions because said magazine flopped. So instead of sending me a refund, the company is sending me ... wait for it ... Taste of Home magazine.
Taste of Home! It's all about FOOD, people!
And I swear this is my final excuse: My walking routine has been interrupted by rain. (And perhaps *cough* a little *cough* laziness. *cough*) Yesterday my buddy and I finally got out to walk again after missing a few days and my legs felt like Jell-O the rest of the day. Sad.
I guess it's time to seriously consider an indoor workout alternative for the winter months so I'll be prepared when the snow flies and I'm too much of a sissy to wanna' walk out there. Because baby, I cannot keep this up all winter or y'all will have to roll me out of the house to greet the Easter Bunny come spring.
Now somebody hide the cookies.
Whoa, doggies! It's a little too early for the holiday plump, isn't it? I stepped on the scale this morning (like I needed that first thing in the morning) and what was already pretty obvious to my bloated self came into sharp, digital focus.
I've put on a few pounds.
OK, literally, a few. Like, four. And listen. I'm a big girl anyway so one would think four pounds either way wouldn't make much of a difference. But I can tell you that four lousy pounds feels like 100 pounds in certain pairs of pants.
Oooooh, the comfort food. Since the weather turned very autumn-like in a hurry I've been drawn to the oven and the big ol' containers of flour and sugar sitting nearby. Yesterday, on a whim, I made several dozen pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Ya' know ... for the kids. *wink wink*
Curse you, white flour and sugar!
And get this. I ordered a subscription to a new home decor magazine a while back? I guess there weren't enough subscriptions because said magazine flopped. So instead of sending me a refund, the company is sending me ... wait for it ... Taste of Home magazine.
Taste of Home! It's all about FOOD, people!
And I swear this is my final excuse: My walking routine has been interrupted by rain. (And perhaps *cough* a little *cough* laziness. *cough*) Yesterday my buddy and I finally got out to walk again after missing a few days and my legs felt like Jell-O the rest of the day. Sad.
I guess it's time to seriously consider an indoor workout alternative for the winter months so I'll be prepared when the snow flies and I'm too much of a sissy to wanna' walk out there. Because baby, I cannot keep this up all winter or y'all will have to roll me out of the house to greet the Easter Bunny come spring.
Now somebody hide the cookies.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Migraine.
Nothing glamorous about that. Nothing at all.
I have suffered from migraine headaches - and various other symptoms that accompany them - since childhood. Long enough that I often know a day or at least several hours in advance of when one might occur. I guess if a person has to be pegged with migraine, it helps to have some time to get to a "safe" place before the serious nastiness hits, so I am thankful that I at least get some warning. I am also thankful for medications that make it so my migraines come less frequently, and are less severe when I do have them.
But even with a body that is in-tune enough to warn me of roadblocks ahead, these ridiculous headaches and the junk that comes with them still sometimes come out of nowhere.
That happened last night.
I had been working for two full days on finally refinishing a dresser I bought at a garage sale last summer, and each of those nights when I went to bed I was exhausted in that way that makes you feel great because you accomplished so much during the day. Last night, the second night, I got all cuddled into bed with my covers pulled up to my chin ... I was pleasantly tuckered out ... the house was quiet ... I turned on the TV to wait for one of my favorite shows to start ... and within five minutes I started to see the aura. Like someone turned on a strobe light in front of my face. Gah!
It felt like I had been duped. Just when I thought things were going great and I had it all under control, my body informed me otherwise. And when my body tells me I'm going to get hit with a migraine, I listen. Whenever possible - and thank God last night it was - I also pull out the big guns: Dark, Quiet and Sleep. A little medication to make the sleep come faster helps, too.
What stinks about migraines (well, besides the make-you-crazy pain and the fact that I'm often rendered useless until it's all over) is that I never really know if I could have done anything to prevent them. Fortunately it's been a while since I've had to think about it because I have them less often than I used to, but today I am thinking back over the past week or so and wondering what triggered this one.
Paint fumes?
Stress?
Too little/too much caffeine?
Change in the weather?
Hormones?
Processed foods?
Too long since my last visit to the chiropractor?
This is the part that stinks. It could be physical, emotional, environmental ... or none of the above. Or all of the above. Sometimes I know exactly what causes them; sometimes I haven't a clue. Isn't that just like life? A total grab bag. Ya' just gotta' roll with it and find something to be thankful for.
Tonight I am thankful that it feels like I will be completely recovered from this (sometimes it takes a day or two) just in time to get started on another busy weekend of running kids here and there and everywhere. I am thankful for the opportunity to sleep off this headache hangover and wake up refreshed in the morning. I am thankful for good drugs.
And I am thankful that I will see my sweetheart tomorrow night.
Here's to a great weekend! Enjoy.
I have suffered from migraine headaches - and various other symptoms that accompany them - since childhood. Long enough that I often know a day or at least several hours in advance of when one might occur. I guess if a person has to be pegged with migraine, it helps to have some time to get to a "safe" place before the serious nastiness hits, so I am thankful that I at least get some warning. I am also thankful for medications that make it so my migraines come less frequently, and are less severe when I do have them.
But even with a body that is in-tune enough to warn me of roadblocks ahead, these ridiculous headaches and the junk that comes with them still sometimes come out of nowhere.
That happened last night.
I had been working for two full days on finally refinishing a dresser I bought at a garage sale last summer, and each of those nights when I went to bed I was exhausted in that way that makes you feel great because you accomplished so much during the day. Last night, the second night, I got all cuddled into bed with my covers pulled up to my chin ... I was pleasantly tuckered out ... the house was quiet ... I turned on the TV to wait for one of my favorite shows to start ... and within five minutes I started to see the aura. Like someone turned on a strobe light in front of my face. Gah!
It felt like I had been duped. Just when I thought things were going great and I had it all under control, my body informed me otherwise. And when my body tells me I'm going to get hit with a migraine, I listen. Whenever possible - and thank God last night it was - I also pull out the big guns: Dark, Quiet and Sleep. A little medication to make the sleep come faster helps, too.
What stinks about migraines (well, besides the make-you-crazy pain and the fact that I'm often rendered useless until it's all over) is that I never really know if I could have done anything to prevent them. Fortunately it's been a while since I've had to think about it because I have them less often than I used to, but today I am thinking back over the past week or so and wondering what triggered this one.
Paint fumes?
Stress?
Too little/too much caffeine?
Change in the weather?
Hormones?
Processed foods?
Too long since my last visit to the chiropractor?
This is the part that stinks. It could be physical, emotional, environmental ... or none of the above. Or all of the above. Sometimes I know exactly what causes them; sometimes I haven't a clue. Isn't that just like life? A total grab bag. Ya' just gotta' roll with it and find something to be thankful for.
Tonight I am thankful that it feels like I will be completely recovered from this (sometimes it takes a day or two) just in time to get started on another busy weekend of running kids here and there and everywhere. I am thankful for the opportunity to sleep off this headache hangover and wake up refreshed in the morning. I am thankful for good drugs.
And I am thankful that I will see my sweetheart tomorrow night.
Here's to a great weekend! Enjoy.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Doc, drugs, and the art of doing nothing.
Doc: "Where's the worst of it?"
Me: "Neck and left shoulder."
"OK. What happened?"
"Uhhh."
"Just life, huh?"
"Yep. I've been doing lots of work around the house lately."
"And probably twice as much as usual, right?"
He knows Steve is working out-of-state.
"Yeah. Do ya' think I could clone myself?"
"How many times?"
*chuckle*
He's working his way from my hips to my shoulders, palpating my spine.
"Oh. OH. This is bad."
"Yeah. Wanna' hear something crazy? It's actually better than it was yesterday."
"Ya' got quite a speed bump there."
"No kidding."
This is where he tells me to take a deep breath and let it all the way out.
POP!
The stabbing pain is immediately replaced by a dull ache. Ahhh, relief.
"Again."
My nose starts draining.
"And again."
POP!
I feel like I can run a marathon. OK, maybe a 5k. Maybe walk a 5k. Slowly."Again."
This time the neck. Thud.
I think I see stars on the backs of my eyelids.
Thud.
Why did I wait so long?Thud.
This is really going to hurt later.Thud.
I wonder if we still have any prescription-strength painkillers in the cupboard.
"Yep."
"NO chores."
"OK."
Here comes my favorite part: massage. He uses some vibrating shiatsu-looking thing. Not as nice as a hands-on massage, but I'll take it.
"You really need to be careful today. Get some heat on there to loosen up those muscles and take something for your pain. This is gonna' be sore for a while."
"Got it."
"You're going to want to take a day off. Or TWO." Emphasis his.
~ ~ ~
Right. Two days? No bending, lifting, twisting, pulling? No can do, chief. I totally respect the doc and all he does for the spinal health of humankind, but I can't put life on hold while I heal up. And really, who could?
In the interest of not completely incapacitating myself, though, I promise I'll do less than nothing at least until my kids get off the school bus today. That gives me a good ... oh ... seven hours from the time I left the doc's office.
The drugs are already kicking in and the couch is calling my name.
So ... happy Cinco de Mayo, amigos. It's time for a lengthy siesta. Hasta mañana.
Monday, May 3, 2010
My body and I have called a truce.
Have you ever been in so much pain that it made you physically ill?
That kind of pain that makes you groan when the alarm clock goes off in the morning because it's still there?
That kind of pain that makes you want to take three times the recommended dose of painkillers because you are certain three is better than one and it couldn't possibly destroy your liver if you did it just this once?
That kind of pain that makes you want to rip your hyperactive kid's head off for asking if he can have an iced cinnamon bun for breakfast? (Oh wait. That has nothing to do with the pain. Nevermind.)
I woke up yesterday morning unable to move my left arm. Oh, I could move it, but not without making the left side of my body feel like someone was stabbing me repeatedly in the left shoulder blade with a pair of dull scissors.
Because dull scissors sound so much more painful than regular scissors, right?
The pain radiated out from my shoulder, crept up the back of my head and shot down my arm and leg.
Steve, God bless him, let me stay in bed and brought me the heating pad and some Tylenol. Tylenol, not Advil, because the universe played a very nasty trick on me and made me allergic to ibuprofen. And Lord knows we didn't need to add a nasty case of hives to the mix.
I finally got up, spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself, then stretched as much as I could and had Steve try to rub out some of the tightness in my neck and shoulder. The more I moved my body, the more it seemed to loosen up. I was able to get some work done throughout the afternoon with only a few reminders of the pain when I turned my head too quickly or reached up to pull something out of a kitchen cupboard. But as soon as we started to settle in for the evening everything tightened up again and I ended up falling asleep on the heating pad. (I know, I know. Not 'sposed to do that.)
This morning I couldn't decide if I wanted to scream or cry. It was a major chore just to wash my hair in the shower. I was not very tolerant of the kids' usual morning madness. I was sick to my stomach. I told myself if I could just hang on for another hour I could get to the chiropractor's office and he would fix me up and all would be right with the world.
So I dropped the kids off at school and headed to see my favorite doc.
But when I got there I was met with a sign on the door: Closed today. Open tomorrow at 8.
Whaaaaaaaat?!?!?
This, my friends, was a defining moment. My choices were a) burst into tears, b) find another chiropractor, or c) take a deep breath, move on with my day, and plan to be back at the office at 7:55 tomorrow morning.
I chose C. And instead of being angry with my body for limiting what I could do today, I decided right then and there to make a conscious effort to nurture it to better health. I hate to admit it, but my body isn't rebelling; it is merely reacting to the hell I've put it through all these years, and especially these last few weeks. Sure, I could do much worse - I don't use recreational drugs or drink heavily, and I'm not completely sedentary - but I could do a whole lot better, too.
No, this is not the first time I've had this revelation.
Yes, I do believe I can still make a difference. It's never too late to start taking care of oneself (again).
So I took a few deep breaths, got myself a bite to eat (a breakfast burrito and a frappe from McDonald's, if you must know, and yes, they made me feel much better), and hit the grocery store. It felt good to load my cart with fresh fruits and veggies, good cheese and lean meats, with a promise that I will do my best to treat my body with a little more respect and kindness from this moment forward.
I feel better already.
That kind of pain that makes you groan when the alarm clock goes off in the morning because it's still there?
That kind of pain that makes you want to take three times the recommended dose of painkillers because you are certain three is better than one and it couldn't possibly destroy your liver if you did it just this once?
That kind of pain that makes you want to rip your hyperactive kid's head off for asking if he can have an iced cinnamon bun for breakfast? (Oh wait. That has nothing to do with the pain. Nevermind.)
I woke up yesterday morning unable to move my left arm. Oh, I could move it, but not without making the left side of my body feel like someone was stabbing me repeatedly in the left shoulder blade with a pair of dull scissors.
Because dull scissors sound so much more painful than regular scissors, right?
The pain radiated out from my shoulder, crept up the back of my head and shot down my arm and leg.
Steve, God bless him, let me stay in bed and brought me the heating pad and some Tylenol. Tylenol, not Advil, because the universe played a very nasty trick on me and made me allergic to ibuprofen. And Lord knows we didn't need to add a nasty case of hives to the mix.
I finally got up, spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself, then stretched as much as I could and had Steve try to rub out some of the tightness in my neck and shoulder. The more I moved my body, the more it seemed to loosen up. I was able to get some work done throughout the afternoon with only a few reminders of the pain when I turned my head too quickly or reached up to pull something out of a kitchen cupboard. But as soon as we started to settle in for the evening everything tightened up again and I ended up falling asleep on the heating pad. (I know, I know. Not 'sposed to do that.)
This morning I couldn't decide if I wanted to scream or cry. It was a major chore just to wash my hair in the shower. I was not very tolerant of the kids' usual morning madness. I was sick to my stomach. I told myself if I could just hang on for another hour I could get to the chiropractor's office and he would fix me up and all would be right with the world.
So I dropped the kids off at school and headed to see my favorite doc.
But when I got there I was met with a sign on the door: Closed today. Open tomorrow at 8.
Whaaaaaaaat?!?!?
This, my friends, was a defining moment. My choices were a) burst into tears, b) find another chiropractor, or c) take a deep breath, move on with my day, and plan to be back at the office at 7:55 tomorrow morning.
I chose C. And instead of being angry with my body for limiting what I could do today, I decided right then and there to make a conscious effort to nurture it to better health. I hate to admit it, but my body isn't rebelling; it is merely reacting to the hell I've put it through all these years, and especially these last few weeks. Sure, I could do much worse - I don't use recreational drugs or drink heavily, and I'm not completely sedentary - but I could do a whole lot better, too.
No, this is not the first time I've had this revelation.
Yes, I do believe I can still make a difference. It's never too late to start taking care of oneself (again).
So I took a few deep breaths, got myself a bite to eat (a breakfast burrito and a frappe from McDonald's, if you must know, and yes, they made me feel much better), and hit the grocery store. It felt good to load my cart with fresh fruits and veggies, good cheese and lean meats, with a promise that I will do my best to treat my body with a little more respect and kindness from this moment forward.
I feel better already.
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