Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Wherein Things Go Downhill Pretty Darn Fast

Well, looks like the last time I was here, I was complaining life was kicking my butt.  Whereupon life took the dare and showed me what buttkicking really means.  I'm sitting here now, surrounded by bottles of narcotics, stunned - demoralized, really - by how quickly a person can become incapacitated by something stupid.

In short, my back hurts. Not typical low-back, I-must-have-wrenched-something hurts - no, just a feeling since Friday that someone cruel is knuckling me right next to my shoulder blade.  Sounds minor, right? But it has brought me to my knees.  When the advice nurse asked me to rate the pain, I said, "Well, if childbirth is a 10, this is 9 1/2."  And it just won't go away.

The house is a mess, thanks for asking.

As I said, this started Friday, so I dosed myself with lots of Motrin and managed to go on our mini-camping trip to the beach anyway.  I held it together until Monday evening, at which point Larry had the fun job of packing up the camper in the dark so we could get me home to some medical care. (Major marriage points for Larry, right?) By that point, the Motrin had ripped my stomach apart to the point that I thought I was having a gall bladder attack.  That is, when my hypochondriacal self wasn't considering the possibility of liver cancer or massive heart attack.  So, you see, gall bladder was the GOOD option.

It's none of those.  It's not a pulmonary embolism, either, or lung cancer.  They checked for all that in the 2 doctor visits I have had since Monday.  It's just some sort of screwed-up muscle which has me popping narcotics all night just to be able to sleep and leaves me whining all day on the couch until it's time for me to take the narcotics again.  ALL DAY.

My new BFF's - Flexeril, Percocet, and Mobic.  We're inseparable.

Last I checked, the kids were eating ice cream for meals.  I'm okay with that, because drugs.

And, because why not kick a gal when she's down, my metal allergy - which has been dormant for years - seems to be flaring up and making me react to the fabric-covered underwire in my bra.  As anyone who has read this particular post knows, I NEED MY UNDERWIRE.  

So, yeah, that was my week.  How was yours?


  1. Ohhh nooooo. I'm so sorry. There's no pain like back pain ... because your back is, like, your whole body.

    I hope things look up soon. And if the kids eat ice cream for every meal? Fine. It's calcium.

  2. Wish I had read this sooner -- I would have picked up your girls to go to the pool. Feel better!

  3. Oh, this is quite a blow. I hope you feel better soon.

  4. Feel better soon. And ice cream for dinner? Out of all the options, it's not the worst thing.

  5. Oooh, Mobic is a new one to me. Sorry you've had to make friends with such a trio, especially when they aren't really making your life better. Ooof. I am truly sorry. (And that metal allergy? I think you might have just explained a rash I've gotten from my bra. I hope that makes you feel better!)
    I eat ice cream for dinner the first day or two that my dh goes away, then I'm ready for something more substantial, like pizza delivery.

  6. I am now officially not feeling bad for myself just because my sciatica has been annoying me all week. I did play it up as much as possible so I could marathon Hell on Wheels.

    Hope you feel better soon. It sounds excruciating.

  7. UGH!!!!!! I hope you feel better soon! And ice cream for dinner is perfectly reasonable under these circumstances! Cereal is another good alternative too!

  8. I'm so sorry! Back pain is terrible. I hope your injured muscle heals quickly and you start feeling better soon.

  9. I am so sorry--constant pain is debilitating in more ways than just physically not being able to do things like you're used to. It's so wearing; it gets in your brain, I swear. I hope it eases soon.

  10. I'm so sorry. Back pain is so awful because it's connected to everything. Wishing you a speedy recovery.

  11. Oh geez. Next locusts will invade your home. This is ridiculous. You poor woman.