Give me some cheese to go with this
Monday, September 8th, 2008I had a cold this past week. A nasty, lung-lashing, hacking, coughing, no sleep for days cold. And every time a hacking, racking cough erupted, that burning, pinching, striking spear of pain in my lower back shot down my buttock and into my leg. Rinse and repeat hundreds of times a day for a week.
Plans to go out, walk, climb, do laundry were cancelled (in part due to rain) and in part due to pain. Can’t bend down to pick up clothing off the floor, so cleaning is a series of deep squats. At least my quads are in good shape. The narcotic pain meds make me not only unconscious, but also come with some unpleasant digestive side effects.
On good days I attempt excercise. The core excercises my PT give me bring on the ouch. The bad ouch, not the “no pain, no gain” ouch. Sometimes 15 minutes of stretching, crunches and bridges is enough to bring on a limp for the rest of the day.
Singing at church for an hour left me nearly incapacitated.
I’m just so over this. So freaking done with it. I am sick of being this person. Sick of being unwell. Sick of seeing my gut expand and my arms turn to mush. Sick of lying down. Sick of television (never thought I’d say that.) Sick of this stupid job I’ve kept purely for the health insurance. Sick of making choices to NOT do things entirely based on physical incapacity
I want to ride a bicycle. I want to go to a free concert and stand through it. I want to dance at a wedding until my feet hurt. MY FEET. I want to wear high heels. I want to go to a pilates class. I want to box. I want to get a job repairing costumes. I want to pack my weekend full of fun and not fear that Saturday’s activities will mean two days of bed rest and enough ice to literally chap my ass in the imprint of my igloo ice pack.
Then I see someone in a wheelchair with headgear and it’s pretty hard to keep feeling sorry for myself.
Pretty hard. But not impossible.
I want a lot of things.
