I love making up new words.
So Friday afternoon I hurt my back pretty badly. Went to the walk-in clinic where some doctor who really couldn’t have given less of a crap nodded and wrote out a prescription for Aleve while I was still talking. He pretty much made me feel like I had wasted the gas it took to drive there.
The next day I went to my general practice doc, who I love, and he inspected my back, bent my legs, watched my range of movement and felt my muscles while I stood straight. He then caringly ushered me into a seat “like a real person” and told me in no uncertain terms -word for word actually- “Tough shit. Deal with it”.
Apparently, I’ve pulled a muscle in my back and there’s nothing else they can give me for the pain that won’t make me useless and unable to care responsibly for my children. Then he answered all my questions, congratulated me on having two boys, entertained me with anecdotes about how lucky I am not to have any girls (he’s now watching his daughter with her teenage daughter) and made me feel like I was visiting a friend. A friend with a scottish (I think) accent. God I love my doctor.
The weekend was relatively uneventful -we got a new microwave that hangs over the stove and has a vent (yay for venting!). By today, my back isn’t hurting nearly as bad, and I’m actually quite impressed with how well I’m able to move around. It still hurts like the day before my period, and occasionally I have to stop and sit with a heating pad for a bit. Still, though, it could be much worse. I can feel the tightness of the muscle that’s weakened, and so I’m taking it easy and making an extra effort to bend at the knee when I lift Charlie.
So, after turning 29 on Easter Sunday (thought I’d let that slip by, didn’t you?) and then hurting myself like only grown-ups seem to do… I’m left with a house full of chores and very little motivation. That’s something I’m definately going to write about soon.