I am not in traction but I am definitely flat on my back.
There was a flurry Tuesday night and I headed out of my apartment carefully on Wednesday morning. I made it down my street, across an intersection, and roughly two-thirds of the way down another street before meeting a particularly vicious driveway. Snow over two inches of ice does not good traction provide.
I wound up on my right side, limbs flung out most attractively. When I managed to regain my feet and skitter forward, I took note of some sore muscles in my back, brushed the snow off my hands, and decided I wasn’t hurt enough to miss the bus. Off I went, as carefully as before, but with the added advantage that there were businesses on the cross street I was approaching and the sidewalks were increasingly dusted with more salt than snow.
I was supposed to be getting some fasting bloodwork done before work that morning. It did not happen.
The fall took up enough time that the bus I was hoping to catch had been and gone. I caught a bus from a different route and headed underground at the first subway station it reached. Huzzah, I thought as I rubbed my hip, I may still get that blood draw.
Joy lasted the duration of the escalator ride. Upon arrival at the platform I discovered a sea of bodies. A “medical emergency” was being announced as the cause of northbound delays (in my experience, medical emergencies are primarily vagrants choosing to exercise their bladder skills). What was not being announced is that if no northbound trains exist, the system runs out of trains to send southbound! It was a long, long wait on that platform. My lower back hurt more and more as I shifted from side to side, trying to find a comfortable stance. I looked at the station clock and resigned myself to missing the blood work and trying again another day.
At long last, a southbound train arrived. I didn’t manage to get on it but I did manage to crowd into the next one several minutes later. I squeezed in and pressed myself against the side of the seat guard, trying to avoid leaning on the gentleman who was actually sitting there. I had to twist a bit to reach a pole to hang on to but, luckily, the platforms at the next several stations were on the opposite side of the train and I could settle back a bit against the door.
Then, on the bridge over the Charles River, the train stopped. A disable train ahead, we were told.
I’ve never understood why they can’t just call it what it is: broken.
I, for one, was certainly starting to feel broken. I now had brief flares of pain down my left leg to my knee and my upper back and shoulders were complaining about the jarring of the fall and the twist I was in to hold that pole.
I am supposed to be at work at 8:30. At 8:28, we finally crossed the bridge. I texted my boss: “I am so close. Sooo close.”
She laughed at me. Someday I will figure out what I have to do to regularly get to work on time (I suspect it will involve chanting and blood sacrifices) but until that day dawns my boss gets frequent reminders how wise she was to move away from the greater Boston area.
I got to work fifteen minutes late. I had left my house at 6:50. I let everyone know I had finally made it in and started sucking down coffee and Advil.
Caffeine and painkillers helped. Or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself they did. By afternoon I had given in and called the chiropractor I hadn’t seen in a few years. By the end of the day, I was moving between sitting and standing in roughly ten minute intervals.
Thursday was more of the same with the exception that it was a much, much shorter work day because I was scheduled to go see my chiropractor.
My chiropractor tested my balance (I stumbled), my reflexes (unremarkable), my leg muscle strength (left roughly half of right). He promptly wrote an order for me to have some X-rays and give me an ice pack and fifteen minutes with a TENS unit. He promised me that he didn’t think anything was broken but, understandably, he was reluctant to do any manipulation without proof of that.
I understand his reasoning, I do, but I just wanted him to fix me! I didn’t really need him to tell me that my “pelvis is…really out of place” (I had rather figured that out on my own) and I’d been hoping against hope that he would just shove my spine back into alignment and the aches and the pains would start to fade.
I am not a medical professional but I didn’t identify any cracks or gaps in the X-rays. My fingers are crossed that when I return to his office tomorrow afternoon he’ll wave a magic wand, put me through a fair amount of pain and force my spinal column to return to its regularly scheduled programming.
For those of us keeping track, last week tied my record of 10 days in a row without medical issue in 2015. I have yet to survive two full weeks without inexplicable illness or accident.
I’ve spent the weekend drifting between prone and vaguely upright, knitting-unknitting-and-reknitting much of a sock, and watching a great deal of Netflix (bumming on the generosity of a friend because it is not in my budget – I’m definitely getting his money’s worth!), particularly Star Trek.
I didn’t discover Star Trek until a few years ago and I have been utterly in love ever since I hit “play” on that first episode. My father sent me a Valentine’s Day present which was an image for my computer backdrop of the original bridge crew as a rock band. The passing of Leonard Nimoy has had me saluting my computer every time Spock comes on screen at the start of an episode. Spock was the character that enraptured me from the start and while I grew to adore Bones and Scotty and the others it is still Spock that I coo aloud at when something clever is done. I’m impressed with Nimoy’s character choices and I’ve been toying with the idea of devoting more of my idle time to his other performances. I’m considering it for Deforest Kelley’s work, too, although I have a slight aversion to Westerns from childhood overexposure.
The show was kitschy and goofy and took a lot of risks and I am so, so, so glad for the technologies that allowed it to be produced, stored, and made available today. What an incredible, fabulous time to be a geek, that allows me to text my father while I giggle at onscreen antics and allows him to respond with comments about his memories of watching the show years ago.