About a week and a half ago, I woke up with some stiffness and aches in my neck and left shoulder. I figured I slept wrong and kept moving.
Today, I can barely move my head. My left arm mobility is about twenty percent. And I’m in what could charitably be called progressive discomfort. Or, y’know, pain.
I’d made myself a deal that if I didn’t feel better by today, I was going to call my doctor. And I had ever intention of sticking to that. Usually I’ll tough something out but two weeks is a long time and everybody was getting sick of me whining so much.
This morning, still pretty uncomfortable. But the real delight and wonder kicked in when I turned my head to the left and, suddenly, lightning struck — every muscle, every nerve in my upper back and shoulders clenched up and a screaming hot bolt of pain flashed up my back, across my shoulder, and down my left arm. I could feel the back of my skull expand, throb, and I’m pretty sure it even sizzled for a few minutes.
I probably whimpered.
I certainly could not move. Not my left arm, not my head. I could barely support my own weight.
So I called the doctor and, miracles do happen, they got me in a few hours later.
While one of the doctors is beating the crap out of me on the table, I tell him about my novel. Then another doctor comes in and beats me up pretty good too. They show me some stretches and give me a handful of samples — muscle relaxants.
“You have any big plans this weekend?” The doctor asks.
“Not really,” I say.
He nods. “Good. Don’t do anything. Rest.”
Well . . . truth is that I did have big plans this weekend. The kids are with their mother, Keeley is working . . . so I had been planning to write as much as possible. Maybe even work in the garden and get last year’s weeds pulled.
The garden is definitely out.
I hadn’t been planning to take the pills. I hate taking stuff. But it’s gotten bad enough that I probably should.
So. Here goes…
5:47 p.m. | I take my first pill. Side effects include nausea, dizziness, cramping, and (my favorite) acute nervousness. Sounds like just another Friday night.
6:45 p.m. | Talking with my father on the phone, he asks “Has anyone prayed for your back?” And then proceeds to do so. I tell him I’m going to be mad if I wake up tomorrow completely healed. “Then I’ll have to do the garden and clean house.” He assures me that if I’m not healed, it’s not his fault but more likely due to some basic sin in my life.
7:02 p.m. | My wife calls to check on me. She’s working late. I’m still in pain.
7:09 p.m. | I make and then eat dinner. It hurts to hold the plate with my left hand.
7:15 p.m. | MI:3 is on, so I figure I’ll watch a little before writing.
8:37 p.m. | I wake up to see Tom Cruise threatening to drop Phillip Seymour Hoffman out an airplane. No ideas what the hell happened.
8:55 p.m. | I go through the stretches the doctor showed me. Nothing.
9:15 p.m. | I realize that I’m still in as much pain as before. I just don’t want to move as much.
9:45 p.m. | Keeley comes home. We watch television for a while. I try not to whimper.
11:23 p.m. | I take the second pill. I write more of this post and wait for it to take effect.
11:25 p.m. | It doesn’t.
2:00 a.m. | I give up and go to bed, my hopes for prescription chemical dependency, rehab,and the subsequent Movie of the Week deal dashed.