What? Me? Worry?
Not until all my loved ones started freaking out.
Not until all my doctor friends started calling and emailing with their “I sure it is nothing to worry about… unless… well unless it’s (fill in your favorite long multisyllabic scary-sounding Latin word here). Then you’d be in trouble… But that’s not too likely, so I’m pretty sure it is nothing to worry about…”
You know that fear is highly contiguous, right?
But even though I wasn’t really worried about it, apparently my body was. And I know that because of this:
Yes another old friend has come back for a visit. That’s not a really, really, really retro iPod I’m wearing. It’s a TENs unit. In case you’ve forgotten, that stands for Therm… No… Trans… well, fuck, I can’t remember what it stands for and I’m too lazy and in too much pain to look it up right now. But it’s an electrical current generator that attaches to pads taped to your body that then send electricity into your bod to overload the electrically-powered nerve endings near the site of an injury so the pain signals to your brain get scrambled. It’s really the high tech version of smashing your hand with a hammer to take your mind off the pain in your foot.
But it does work.
Long-time readers will recall that about a year and a half ago my back got so jacked up that I wore a TENs 24-7 for months.
I hadn’t had any trouble since then until today. Today, reaching for a box on a shelf I felt that OHSHIT feeling you get just before your back goes out. I imagine it must be the same feeling you’d get if you lost your footing and fell off of the Golden Gate Bridge. Yeah, you’re not hurting yet (as you are simply falling through the air) but you know you’re going to be hurting any secon--- ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGG.
Once I could breathe again, which seemed like hours, I got myself to a wall. Leaning on a wall is a great way to keep from falling down. About an hour later I got from the wall to the medicine cabinet, washing Flexeril down with red wine—not recommended, according to the bottle, and I’m not to operate heavy machinery, either. It’s OK, I’m pretty sure word processors aren’t really considered heavy machinery. Then I chased the Flexeril down with 800mg of Ibuprofen for good measure.
You would think I’d be feeling no pain, but you’d be wrong.
So I broke out my old TENs unit; it’s pads, tape, wires, and connectors looking like a foreign language that I should know how to speak, but just can’t quite grasp. It had been a while since I had used it. It took me a while to remember how to worked.
Further proof that when it rains it pours.
Anyway, sometime this next week I should get the results of the biopsy back. It will probably prove to be nothing.
But I wonder… how long will it take for my back to recover?