Warning: This post will be heavily laced with vile cursing, for which I am not at all ashamed, but to which some may be (overly) sensitive. If that is the case with you, stop reading now.
I've been through a lot over the years with my gimpy left leg, so I've become pretty stoic about pain in general. But this... this was a whole new realm of evil...
Sciatica... oy vey. I've never had any kind of back trouble ever in my life until a couple of weeks ago. Then I did "something" to my back. It's the most excruciating pain (all my leg surgeries notwithstanding) that I have experienced in my life. Between the overwhelming spasms in my lower back and the combined shooting pain and numbness in my legs I was completely hobbled.
The pain is much better now, thank you very much. However, I still have a lot of numbness in my left leg and not a lot of muscle control in either leg. But, I'm getting better. Slowly. Bette Davis said it best, "Old age is no place for sissies!"
I had mentioned this issue to a few online friends and days after that, one of them asked me how I was doing. What follows is my epithet-laden response. (Seriously, stop reading NOW if you have problems with people swearing.)
Since you asked, here is the beginning of my morning(s): Barb wakes up, feeling comfy and pain free. Barb knows if she moves that will change. Instantly. Barb has to pee, so there's no option but to move. Barb begins to skootch to the side of the bed in a weird, sideways humping motion, groaning in a non-pleasurable way with each hump. Once to the side of the bed Barb, wincing, pushes herself to a half seated position. Whispers, "Motherfuck." And waits for the lower back spasm to subside a little. Once this happens, Barb pushes to a fully seated position, wincing, repeating epithet, and waiting.
Barb then knows it's time to stand and that it is going to be an unholy event. Gingerly, she puts a little pressure on her right (good) leg. She whispers, "Mother fuck you fucking whores." She puts a little pressure on the other leg and says, "Mother fuck your fucking fathers you fucking whores." She then manages to stand in what might normally be seen as a Please-Fuck-My-Ass way. Not at all the case this time.
She puts her hand on the wall for some support and pulls to a fully standing position, at which point all the cursing devolves into, "oh fuckfuckfuckfuck." She stands for a minute until the worst of the screaming spasms go away.
She then limps one tiny inch at a time toward the bathroom that is (a profoundly distant) 10 feet away. Two minutes later she is finally standing in front of the toilet, realizing that she will have to somehow sit down (damn her lack of penis anyway). She begins laughing hysterically through the grimace and the tears of pain. She lowers herself cautiously and pees as the spasms rework themselves.
She sits for 4 minutes after she's done thinking, "No fucking way in anyone's fucking hell am I going to try to fucking stand fucking UP again!" She starts to laugh hysterically again.
Finally, she stands, repeating much of the process (and cursing) that it took to get out of bed. Fifteen minutes later, she has managed to get her bathrobe wrapped around her and has made it downstairs to the kitchen. She leans against the counter in relief. Her back spasms again at the difference in position. She calls all the coffee mugs motherfuckers, grabs her favorite and pours some bean.
She takes a handful of Aleve with a sip of coffee. She shuffles the remaining 8 feet to the back door, mug o' bean in hand, goes outside on the deck, groans her way into a chair and thinks, "I did it. Yay. See? That wasn't so bad."
An hour later the Aleve has kicked in and she can actually (most of the time) stand up and go to the bathroom without insulting anyone's mothers or the fine art of fucking.
This sucks, but I will live. The hardest part is forgiving myself my body's rebellion. And I still have my sense of humor.
Finally, S is for Steve, the most amazing, loving, wonderful individual ever to grace my life. I love him to the breadth and depth of my Soul. Brandi Carlile's song The Story perfectly captures how I feel about him and who he is in my life.