rear
One week into my thirty-ninth year of age, my body has decided to cruelly remind me of the passing of time. The nagging backache that started in early December turned into an unbearable pain that had me wandering restlessly from couch to bed to floor over the last weekend trying to find a position that did not hurt.
Having just moved house, I had to register with my local GP before I could obtain an appointment. I am not expecting to be issued with a free personal chiropractor courtesy of the NHS; I am just looking for answers (Is it sciatica? Will I die?) and some ideas on what to do about it.
There is a lot to be learnt from this less than comfortable situation.
- When your back wakes you up at 3AM on three consecutive nights and prevents you from falling asleep again it's not to stop you from your deserved rest. It only wants you to catch up with the backlog of movies and series that await to be viewed. Highlight of the week: 'There's Something About Marrying', the episode of The Simpsons with gay marriages and one of the characters coming out.
- I miss going to the gym. I had not realised how important a part of my weekly routine it had become since I first took out a membership two years ago. And now damn, I have to eat less or the weight creeps back. But still, weight training with bad form is probably what caused the pain in the first place, so the heaviest thing I'm lifting these days is cutlery. Towards my mouth.
- Painkillers rule! And I thought that the rich and famous' "painkiller addiction" was nothing but a kind euphemism to avoid mentioning the harder stuff.
- The number of workable sex positions has now been further reduced from two (since I twisted my right knee a year ago - that is so Britney, I know) to one (the miserable missionary).
- Verbalising pain does not make it go away, and yet I am making bloody sure everyone knows about it. Suffer in silence? With an Italian backround? Yeah right.