For Kelly

Yesterday my back was sore.  I sat around all day, taking it easy and putting a hot pack on it it. It was bad, but it wasn’t awful, and when evening rolled around I went to knit night anyway.  I thought the distraction would be good, and besides, I’d sat still all day and it was no better.  Maybe moving and walking would help. 

This photo is from last week’s knit night, but it still should give you an idea of what it’s like.  This is Jen and a large pom-pom.  I have included this picture because, well.  I like it, it was on my computer, and it actually has nothing to do with anything, except that’s the sort of thing that happens at knit night, and if you don’t go, then you might miss that- so I went.  Nothing like that happened (although we did have a good game of Would You Rather) and when I came home my back wasn’t good but it wasn’t worse, and I congratulated myself on the good choice, and went to bed.

I didn’t sleep well.  I was uncomfortable, my back hurt, but it only really ached, and I didn’t even think about getting up and taking something for it, which was probably a mistake- now that I think about it. 

This morning I went to step out of bed, and I couldn’t. I mean it.  I could. Not. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life, and I say that from the perspective of a woman who had three  8lb 4oz  babies au natural.  (All my babies were 8lb 4 oz.  I am nothing if not consistent.) The pain in my lower back was so intense, so much of a spasming, fierce thing that it moved me to some crazy half laughing-half crying place where I couldn’t say anything to Joe other than "DON’T TOUCH ME" while clinging to the edge of the bed, half standing, half collapsed, all naked and perfectly content to stay there all day as long as I didn’t need to move.

I got somehow to the bathroom and back, but it was the hairiest 5 metres of my life.  I was clinging to the stair rail in the hall and wondering, with every step if I was going to make it, sweaty and white knuckled while my lower back threatened to paralyze me and throw me on the floor.  It was gaspingly, incredibly painful, and I’m not even willing to discuss the process of getting on and off the loo.  I am a hippy, vegetarian,  tree-hugging, herb using, homeopathic remedy suggesting person, and this morning as I was trying to get myself back onto my bed I would have taken ANYTHING.  I would have taken the epidural that I refused years ago as I passed human beings through my body.  I would have let you shoot me.  I would have done anything that you suggested might even help a little- and I don’t even mean that I would have taken anything you suggested would help my back to feel better for the dayl… I mean I would have scored some crazy street morphine if you told me it would get me halfway into my bed.

I did eventually get there.  I had help.  It was embarrassing.  While I am very good at helping other people when they are hurt, I really hate people being with me while I’m hurt.  Pain turns me into a lone wolf- and somehow it was humiliating to have Joe bring all I needed to me in bed.  (Laptop, phone, coffee, ice pack – some horse tranquilizer called "Robax Platinum" that makes you so high that your back still hurts but you care less.)  The only thing he didn’t bring me before he went to work – was my knitting, and it is a testament to how spectacularly painful my back is, that after a coffee, muscle relaxant, painkiller, ice pack and a rest, I am not even considering thinking about going to get it. The pain is pretty manageable as long as I stay right here, and that trip down the hall wasn’t something I care to repeat, never mind down the stairs.  Megan will check in soon, and I’ll make her fetch my stuff.

In any case, this is for my sister-in-law Kelly, because a few years ago her back was really bad.  After years of working with women in labour, it turns out that I am who this family calls if someone is in pain and needs help.  I went over and got Kelly sorted, which wasn’t easy and now I know why.

I was really, really nice to her, but I’m apologizing anyway. I didn’t get it. I do now, and Kelly, if I had it to do again, I would totally score crazy street morphine for you.  Peace out.