Ay, My Back
I’m getting older than dirt.
Today I’m completely laid up. I can barely move. Ay, my aching back. (When I was 11 or 12, a huge group of Puerto Rican women were out on Mike Milaro’s second-story porch when it collapsed. At least a dozen people hit the ground. Lots of them got seriously injured. And I can still hear one of the women screaming, “Ay, my baahhk. Ay, my baahk.” So now I say that all the time when my back hurts.)
The Nerve of It All
Yesterday, I had to push start my motorcycle because it had been a long while since it had been started. That process is no fun. The bike weighs on the order of 550 lbs. To get it started, I have to straddle it, pull in the clutch, do my best impression of Fred Flintstone, roll as fast as I can, let out the clutch, pull it back in. And…nothing. Sputter, sputter, sputter. Push the motorcycle back *up* the driveway. Lather, rinse, and repeat 3 times. Finally, the bike starts. And my back starts to sputter.
I Felt a Twinge
We went to the gym. And when I first started doing curls, I felt it. A twinge in my back. Kinda scary, but I kept going. I lifted weights for the next 30 or so minutes. Then I jumped on the extra cool VR bike and took a spin around the “coastline” for 30 minutes. Pegged my heart rate at 150 bpm. Was dripping with sweat. And I could barely walk.
Elvis the Pelvis and Enis the…
Something seized up in the girdle around my pelvis. (Go ahead and laugh.) It radiated out from about 3 vertebrae from the bottom. I could walk — but only stooped over like Grandpa in “The Princess Bride.” I felt like Inego Montoya was stabbing me in the back. So I did the only sensible thing. I kept going. I rode the recumbent bike for another 30 minutes. Then, I hobbled out of the YMCA.
I Can Be a Pain in the Ass, but This is in My Back, or, It Gets Worse
I decide to do the only rational thing I can think of when by back is ripped up. I decide that we should go out to dinner. Somehow I manage to shuffle into the restaurant. (Oh, did I mention that I took 4 Aleve not knowing that you’re supposed to take only one? And that they last about four hours? And that I took them about 3 hours before we went to dinner?) We eat cajun food, and I’m mostly okay. But toward the end of the meal, I can feel my back seizing up. I feel like it’s time to go. Only problem? I can’t.
I’ll Bite Your Kneecaps Off
I couldn’t walk. Not even a few steps. I was bent over at the waist, my back was seized up, and there was a restaurant full of people between me and the door. I had to ask Sheryl to wait several times while I held onto her shoulder and gasped. Somehow I fell into the car, smacked my head getting in, and then laid back in the seat and moaned like a zombie. (Did I mention that I once took a month off of work when I got a hangnail?) Dang, my back was killing me.
Here I Am on the Couch Doing My Impression of Jackie Gleason
When I woke up this morning I forgot that my back hurt. That lasted until I make it just about to the bathroom. Then it got really bad. I could barely make my way 15 steps back to the bed. Hunched over. Sucking wind. Something was wrong.
The Bonus Aspect of Being a Baby
Now the entire day has gone by. Sheryl has brought me breakfast (omelet, coffee, OJ, toast) and lunch (heirloom tomato sandwiches) so far. Reading material. Crossword puzzles. Michael Moore’s new book, “Mike’s Election Guide 2008,” and Doan’s Pills. Yep, they still sell those things. I’ve got a heating pad on my back and Doan’s in my gullet. Let’s see where this goes. At this point, my back is killing me, but I consider the room service second to none, so it’s a wash on how bad it is.
More soon. I have to lie down for a bit. And moan.
Posted on August 31, 2008
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