I zigged when I should have zagged and flared my sciatica. Although in the past I’ve been down sometimes more than I’ve been up, once I realized my limitations and was careful I haven’t had an episode for a couple of years knock on wood! So I was a bit deluded this last snowstorm and feeling pretty cocky with the shovel. I really need to keep reminding myself I am not a spring chicken, nor am I a man with the upper body strength to be lifting that kind of load. Three shovels full in and I felt the pull, like a rubber band being stretched to its limit taking me to pain purgatory between 6 and 7.
After all that talk of cleaning on the boat, whining about shoveling snow might sound strange, but there’s something about the angle to which my body reaches when holding that bloody tool that does me in. My son offers to help and I should really take him up on his offer, but I’m one of those mothers that don’t like to interfere, he’s married now and busy with his new life, I don’t want to be one of those woman that can’t let go but I guess I need to find a happy medium and call on help from time to time. Considering the consequences, I really should do a shout out because being bed ridden or sofa bound cramps my style. It’s been a week now and I still find it difficult to get in and out of chairs, stand for long periods and getting in and out of and driving the car is the worst.
I’ve always been fiercely independent, being on my own since I was a teen. My first hubby was a scallop fisherman, away two weeks and home three days and the current one (hopefully the last), is a geologist that works out of province. Through necessity, I’ve learned to take care of myself; I can muddle thought must things dealing with everyday living. It’s going to be rough when I’m old and not in charge of my life. Living with limitations and might be a fate worse than death. For me, independence is one of the biggest perks of my life.
At the worst of my flare-up, I shuffled around the house, bent over and uncomfortable, grabbing on to counters and furniture to help pull me along. Putting on my shoes and boots was an act of concern, thank goodness I no longer have footwear with laces.
I’m not exactly a convalescing beauty. I strayed from the shower for a bit worried I might slip and fall, and if I dropped the soap, well I wouldn’t be bending over. I feel like one of those Walmartians posted on the internet, with my pajama bottoms jacked up under my armpits to keep the waist elastic off my lower back. Although my look is out of necessity, many call it fashion. I’m reminded of a picture burned on my brain of an older gal, on the heavy side, wearing only pajama bottoms, pulled up over her sagging breasts, perhaps harkening back to the day of strapless dresses I guess. She was happily pushing her cart around Walmart without a care in the world. Would I ever go out in public looking like this, hell no, I can’t imagine it. I guess pride is dished out in uneven doses because I got way too much while others were cheated. On the flip side, perhaps I admire her for not given a crap what others think. I could have used a little less of that particular trait.
The biggest concern was food, or lack of it. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was practically bare. I was down to crackers and cheese the last two days before I made it to the grocery store for provisions. The town I live in is so small you have to go outside its boundaries to change your mind; nothing delivers not even the pizza joint, but then again I wouldn’t have wanted anyone from the outside world seeing me at my worst.
So I lived with my Urkel look for a few days before going back to work. I still have a twinge or two to mind when sitting, and I’m very careful when I bend. Just another hurtle to jump....well crawl over gently.....
After all that talk of cleaning on the boat, whining about shoveling snow might sound strange, but there’s something about the angle to which my body reaches when holding that bloody tool that does me in. My son offers to help and I should really take him up on his offer, but I’m one of those mothers that don’t like to interfere, he’s married now and busy with his new life, I don’t want to be one of those woman that can’t let go but I guess I need to find a happy medium and call on help from time to time. Considering the consequences, I really should do a shout out because being bed ridden or sofa bound cramps my style. It’s been a week now and I still find it difficult to get in and out of chairs, stand for long periods and getting in and out of and driving the car is the worst.
I’ve always been fiercely independent, being on my own since I was a teen. My first hubby was a scallop fisherman, away two weeks and home three days and the current one (hopefully the last), is a geologist that works out of province. Through necessity, I’ve learned to take care of myself; I can muddle thought must things dealing with everyday living. It’s going to be rough when I’m old and not in charge of my life. Living with limitations and might be a fate worse than death. For me, independence is one of the biggest perks of my life.
At the worst of my flare-up, I shuffled around the house, bent over and uncomfortable, grabbing on to counters and furniture to help pull me along. Putting on my shoes and boots was an act of concern, thank goodness I no longer have footwear with laces.
I’m not exactly a convalescing beauty. I strayed from the shower for a bit worried I might slip and fall, and if I dropped the soap, well I wouldn’t be bending over. I feel like one of those Walmartians posted on the internet, with my pajama bottoms jacked up under my armpits to keep the waist elastic off my lower back. Although my look is out of necessity, many call it fashion. I’m reminded of a picture burned on my brain of an older gal, on the heavy side, wearing only pajama bottoms, pulled up over her sagging breasts, perhaps harkening back to the day of strapless dresses I guess. She was happily pushing her cart around Walmart without a care in the world. Would I ever go out in public looking like this, hell no, I can’t imagine it. I guess pride is dished out in uneven doses because I got way too much while others were cheated. On the flip side, perhaps I admire her for not given a crap what others think. I could have used a little less of that particular trait.
The biggest concern was food, or lack of it. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was practically bare. I was down to crackers and cheese the last two days before I made it to the grocery store for provisions. The town I live in is so small you have to go outside its boundaries to change your mind; nothing delivers not even the pizza joint, but then again I wouldn’t have wanted anyone from the outside world seeing me at my worst.
So I lived with my Urkel look for a few days before going back to work. I still have a twinge or two to mind when sitting, and I’m very careful when I bend. Just another hurtle to jump....well crawl over gently.....
RSS Feed
