Thursday, November 11, 2010
a patch
At two o’clock in the morning, I down one, two, three ibuprofens. No effect. I’m up pacing. I’m reminded of labor. Or a gall bladder attack. Times when pain pushes thoughts of any better world aside.
Ed suggests we search the Internet for some late night distraction. I don’t know. Maybe with an ice pack on my shoulder? He rolls forward an episode of Two and a Half Men. I smile. We watch another. I find that if I don’t move at all, the ice does the job. A few hours later, just before daybreak, I doze off again. For a few minutes. Classes start early today.
I admit it -- I am tired. Three classes to teach and I can’t quite write on the blackboard yet. Too much motion with the troubled arm.
But the pain’s receding and the day’s progressing and I actually dare bike to and from work, even as one hand is hardly functional and the wind is ripping at me right through the threadbare fleece of both jacket sleeves. (I should have taken the warmer coat.)
And now, in the evening I’m sitting with a friend over a glass of rosé, reflecting about all that lends itself to an evening of reflection, and I’m thinking – wow, it’s as if the Night of Pain never happened.
A tiny patch of blue sky! Yes, thank you, I’ll take it.
Ed suggests we search the Internet for some late night distraction. I don’t know. Maybe with an ice pack on my shoulder? He rolls forward an episode of Two and a Half Men. I smile. We watch another. I find that if I don’t move at all, the ice does the job. A few hours later, just before daybreak, I doze off again. For a few minutes. Classes start early today.
I admit it -- I am tired. Three classes to teach and I can’t quite write on the blackboard yet. Too much motion with the troubled arm.
But the pain’s receding and the day’s progressing and I actually dare bike to and from work, even as one hand is hardly functional and the wind is ripping at me right through the threadbare fleece of both jacket sleeves. (I should have taken the warmer coat.)
And now, in the evening I’m sitting with a friend over a glass of rosé, reflecting about all that lends itself to an evening of reflection, and I’m thinking – wow, it’s as if the Night of Pain never happened.
A tiny patch of blue sky! Yes, thank you, I’ll take it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
As a veteran of three shoulder rehabs,I endorse formal physical therapy and temporary access to exercise equipment for a slow, complete recovery. Even changing sleep posture may decrease shoulder pain for some. Pushing down on a bike handle does stress the shoulder, I'll bet. You need a chauffeur, clearly covered in an HMO.
ReplyDeleteI'm workin' on it, George H! Unfortunately, the old socket is in a deep freeze so it needs, I'm told, some stimulus funds to get it going again.
ReplyDeleteToday I resume PT. Boring, but necessary.
I'm learning that to be one of those who attempts to climb mountains at the age of 70, you have to buy into a lot of boring routines. Lethargy is the enemy! Luckily, I'm not inclined toward lethargy. To me, it's even more boring than unrelenting movement.
Now, back to the arm push ups.
Your comment, "and I’m thinking – wow, it’s as if the Night of Pain never happened" kind of reminds me of labor. How quickly we forget. Good luck with your rehab and PT!
ReplyDeleteSara -- my OB/GYN doc said that if women had the ability to remember pain, humankind would not have survived.
ReplyDeleteI do regret not being roped into your cousin (is it your cousin?) -- the funny PT. Mine is not funny, adding to the yawn factor of the entire effort.