It’s been 16 days since my back went out. First of all, I love that expression. “My back went out”. As if it decided to throw on some glad rags and a hot pair of shoes and hit the town. The expression conjures up positive images while what I have been going through is anything but positive.
I still can’t remember the exact thing the doctor at the hospital explained to me, as I was a *little* bit high on the pain killers they had put in my IV, but it goes something like “you have a messed up thing you were born with, there’s some spinal fusing that doesn’t usually happen unless it’s a result of surgery, and basically, this will be a problem for life and one day you will need to have it surgically dealt with”. I have some deteriorated discs and a weird thing with my sciatic nerve.
So for the last two weeks I’ve been hobbling like an old lady. When I’ve had to go out in public (the few and painful times) I’ve taken my cane- a leftover from another bad injury years ago. I can’t tell you the looks I get from the spry folk in their seventies around town, jaunting about happily in Canadian Tire and the grocery stores, when I hobble in at 38, bent over, squinting at the spasms and leaning on my cane.
I learned something this past two weeks that I had forgotten though. Well, forgotten for the last two years anyway. I, in case you didn’t know, am incredibly smart when it comes to judging the Olympics.
Seriously, I have no idea why the Olympic Committee has never called me in because basically, I am a font of knowledge. While parked on my couch with the heat pack (or the bag of peas) firmly planted on my back, I have judged almost every event so far and I must say, there have been a few occasions where I have seriously questioned the abilities of the so called judges that are in Sochi at the moment, because clearly, I was right while they were not.
I have also read several books, learned to judge the *exact* second when Oxycodone kicks in, amused my kids with my drug fuelled philosophising, cried in frustration, cried in pain, cried after laughing too hard because it hurt to laugh, cried at stupid commercials and at book endings. Basically, I cried a lot. It’s becoming a bit of a punch line to the kids (they find it amusing and like to make aw, old age mom sounds at me when I do it). I’ve had twitter fights with Keisha over our phones (I won) and have lamented the fact that I had to stop cooking for a while.
Today has been much better. So far, anyway. About five days ago as my lower back has started to ease off pain wise, my sciatic kicked in with a piercing howl, but now even that feels like it’s starting to go away. And as much as I’ve enjoyed some of the aspects of having a couch permanently attached to my ass, I’m ready to be able to start getting around more again. Especially back in my kitchen.
Slowly, I’m getting back to my normal self. Thank goodness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Olympics to judge.