Painful reminders

Two weeks ago, I was sweaty from being outside so I wanted to take a mid-afternoon shower. How decadent! With apparently too much enthusiasm, I lifted one leg to extricate it from my pair of lightweight yoga pants (which have never seen even one minute of yoga in their lives). In an instant, I regretted living on the edge like that, recklessly taking off pants. Because the muscles in my lower back – specifically on the right side – seized up in a bad and familiar way.

I pleaded, “No! No! Nooooo!” as the rest of the clothes in my closet stared at me unflinchingly, seemingly telling me I should have known better than to take off pants without holding onto something. In the background of my pleas was a horrifying sound. In the immediate vicinity of my right lumbar region, it sounded like Velcro was ripping apart. That was not a sound I had ever heard my back make. It thankfully wasn’t that horrible popping sound my ACL made when I tore it 9 years ago. But super-duper terrifying nonetheless.

Naturally, I was home alone when my back betrayed me yet again. And I would be for the next 6 hours (Rob was flying home from an extremely quick trip to California). I tried to remember to breathe, I hobbled around, I convinced myself I wasn’t going to die in the short term, I applied my favorite ice pack, and I made spaghetti (my comfort food) as I waited to see what my body would do next.

Over the following days – gratefully with Rob’s help – my trusty walker was retrieved from the garage, plans were canceled, visits and church services were experienced from a reclining position, and I groggily greeted each morning in the after-fog of nightly muscle relaxants. I focused on ice and anti-inflammatories for the first 2 days, then switched to heat and pain relievers with the knowledge of far too much experience. I also repeatedly reminded myself that – like always – I would be pretty much back to my version of normal in just 7 to 10 days.

Except I wasn’t. I’m not. Not yet. And it’s been really deflating.

Don’t get me wrong – I am WORLDS better than where I was when the searing pain radiated throughout my lower back two weeks ago. My walker is back in the garage, I can dress myself, I can drive. So I am definitely getting there.

But I’m still not a fan of sitting for more than about 15 minutes, I can only stare at soap when I drop it in the shower (twice now; it’s a frequent occurrence when my pain is ramped up), and I am not ready to wear jeans yet. Determined not to develop an irrational fear of pants (the last time my back seized up like this, I was putting pants ON), I’ve forced myself to at least wear shorts. While I am enjoying rediscovering the dresses in my closet, the 80+ temps are only going to last for a few more weeks. I’m going to have to be courageous and wear pants eventually.

Yes, I could use body wash -- and I do
have some as back-up. But it comes
with its own challenges which make
bar soap a better option for me.
Usually.

Well, actually, I HAVE worn pants! After several nights of waking up every time I wanted to switch positions in bed and being sort of stuck by the friction of the sheets and my pjs, inspiration directed me to Amazon.  A Prime Day later, I had some surprisingly cheap but effective satiny pajama bottoms that have revolutionized my sleep. Apparently, now anytime I want to roll over to my other side, I just slip and slide over there. I don’t know for sure because…I am blissfully asleep! Why has it taken me over 25 years to figure out this sleep hack?!? Not to mention, I feel sort of girly and slinky wearing satin pajamas! Ah, the (eventual) wisdom of 56.

Beyond the satin jammies, the past two weeks have brought other revelations. Like, I hadn’t really appreciated how GOOD my back has been doing lately, given its standard state of titaniummed fusion. Yes, I live my life with lots of modifications and accommodations. But I am still able to do quite a lot. And I have mostly accepted the stuff I can’t do. The past two weeks have been filled with new and seemingly endless can’ts and it was hard to not wallow a bit.

I am now mostly at the point of being OK as long as I don’t want to sit for more than a quick drive to the store. I made the mistake a few days ago of sitting at my computer desk, tapping away at the keyboard with frustration as I discovered some shortcomings with a local credit union. I sat at a desk and got stressed – and paid for it dearly as soon as I tried to stand up. As I clung to the railing to get downstairs one slow step at a time, I suddenly remembered…this is why I don’t have a job. I’ll be honest, there are days when I desperately wish I could work and wonder if maybe I could handle having a job after all. At unfortunate times like these – these days of being a daredevil by wearing pants – I am smacked back to the reality of my life and the gratitude that I can take the time I need to recover without impacting an employer or coworkers.

Friends have kindly been checking on me, as I’ve not really had the energy to try to hide the pain. Or…I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. Either way, I’ve been touched by the concern and sort of confused how best to answer. Overall, I’m doing ok. I’m getting better. I’m reinfused with appreciation for my usual daily existence. And I’m working up the courage to wear pants.

Oh, and that Velcro ripping noise? The one I thought was a back muscle tearing? Yeah, pretty sure it was actually my knee. The knee that makes crackling noises going down stairs – and has done so for enough years that I don’t really listen to it anymore. Ah, 56.