Picture this: A woman, sitting on the couch, curled up in a big, fluffy blanket not because she’s cold, but because her body decided to rebel instead of let her be comfortable. She’s not dressed up, wearing workout pants and a t-shirt borrowed from her husband. Her hair, pulled back into a serviceable pony tail at the nape of her neck, is messy and probably could use a good brushing. On her lap is a black, plastic lap desks and a light purple steno pad with a pen made from a recycled bottle.
But, instead of writing, she’s massaging the middle of her hand with her eyes closed, mouth pinched as she tries to wait out whatever pain her body decided to throw at her on the gloomy day showing through the window beside her.
If you can picture that, you can picture me from yesterday. Yeah, yesterday wasn’t easy despite the needs of family and the house. Can’t clean if pain is shooting through your back, can’t type with pain shooting through the wrists, can’t focus with pain shooting through one side or the other of your head, and to add insult to injury, can’t write with shooting pain going from the center of your writing hand to your elbow.
Most days I can muscle through it because pain pills, unless they are the type to make you loopy, does absolutely nothing for me. It even says in my medical records “Motrin has no effect.” If I take the ones that do work, well, I can’t function well and as a mother with a young son at home, that’s not allowed.
I don’t normally like to complain about it, I honestly feel that most days I can’t afford to. My responsibilities and duties don’t let you lie down on the job because the son wants to eat, the daughter wants to be picked up from the bus, the dogs want to go out, we need food in the fridge so we can put it on the table, and we have birthday parties to handle. Yeah, while my husband can take leave, I can’t despite my body clamoring for me to do so.
I don’t complain because it can’t change and for 98% of the time, I don’t want it to, but I’ll admit, there are days when I need and want a vacation. To curl up with a fantastic book, a cup of hot coco, and forget about everything that I can. It doesn’t dull the pain, but it does let me drown it out with something. My husband tries to help when he can, but the Air Force isn’t always accommodating…. “Oh, your wife is sick? Can she still think and function? Take care of the kids for you while you’re here? Yeah? Great, get back to work and we hope she feels better.”
Okay, they say it nicer than that, but the gist is the same. Not that it happens often because usually, due to my own stubbornness, he doesn’t learn about it unless I’m almost knocked on my ass from the mind numbing pain until he comes home from work. So who can I really blame? Probably me, but you know what, I’m in a moment of denial as my back has started to flare and my hand is starting to cramp and sometimes
….I just need to complain about it because tomorrow I’ll be back on my feet moving and doing what it is that has to be done.