It’s 12:20 on March 28th, and Pop artist Katy Perry is telling me to roar. I don’t know why, but several of her songs get me right in the neck; part gag, and part cry. Musical taste aside, it got me thinking, what am I gonna roar about today? What am I afraid of?
Stagnation. Slipping backwards. Losing what little mobility I still have. I’m afraid of a 4th crown on my teeth. I haven’t gotten my third yet, but the first appointment is set for next month. I got these crowns from gritting my teeth through the hurt. Actual, physical pain. I am breaking bones in my body slowly as I suck it up and deal rather than get off my ass and move. And they’re not just any bones. As I recall, your teeth are some of the hardest substances in your entire corporeal being. (Think about this the next time I say I’m going to sink my teeth into something and what it means coming from my mouth.) I know I have the third coming, but damn if I don’t want a plan to shore me up against the 4th.
Where does the pain come from, you ask? Well, something like 8 years ago now, I hurt my back very badly in an on the job injury. It took me 6 weeks of daily physical therapy and 18 months of weekly visits to get me to the point where I didn’t have to walk with a cane to hold myself up. I have since discovered that I use the majority of the muscles in my body wrong, and as such, substitute others in their place for day to day movements. This tired them out, and keeps me from having a normal range of motion. If you want the entire litany of woes, I can tell you. It’s extensive. The Spark Notes version is, standing for more than 20 minutes hurts, I’ve got high grade muscle relaxants, and a standing order on pain meds, and I’m on my second TENS unit for when my lower half, from my hip to my knee, entirely seizes up.
Do I bitch about it much? No. Not publicly, that is. Thunderhead hears his share, but that's what happens when Yeah, it’s awful. I’m a train-wreck in a seated position. Thing is, if you’re not laughing, you’re crying. I got here from my own lack of action, and like hell I’m bringing anyone down with me. Y’all got your own dustbins where you keep your troubles. I don’t need to rent mine out like Hotel California.
Does it scare me that I’ll keep getting worse? Hell yeah it does. There were days when I had to have my now ex husband help me get dressed by putting on my socks and shoes. This is the same man who, despite the risks of it being an epic fart joke, still responds to my requests for him to “pull my leg”. The results of that are to use the shotgun approach to get my pelvis back in alignment. It’s a bandaid, but a big goddamned deal none the less.
I don’t want to get back to the cane, pimp or otherwise, much less slip further along the line towards bedridden. Thing is, as Bono would say, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
Edit: As of 4/16 I’ve got a little more hope. I have been fitted for a night guard so I can save my teeth when I grind them at night. I used it for the first time last night. I’m ecstatic to report that I actually feel like I slept better. I can’t say I remember even stirring even once. I can’t say that was a promised effect, but if it’s a side bennie, I’ll take it. I’ve also started using the treadmill workstation for an hour a day at work. I feel slightly more limber, but that’s like saying you’ve soaked some balsa wood in water for 15 minutes if you’re looking for a comparison in flexibility. It’s a start. Lastly though, I got myself a wonderful 60 minute massage that helped break up an awful lot of my muscle adhesions. Sure, I was tender and sore along with relaxed, but finding some new trigger points to work on has given me new direction in where to stretch and perhaps even apply my TENS unit. Any little bit of enthusiasm and positivity helps. Hooray for that.