It happened like this.
I was sitting in my living room chair this morning, finishing the first cup of coffee for the day and thinking through an email when the door bell rang. I considered not answering it. I was still in my pyjamas and hadn't showered so my hair was a little like Alfalfa's in the early years, not in the "It's A Wonderful Life" years. But then I remembered that just yesterday I had made an appointment with the appraiser to be here at 9:00ish. I could not send this person away, and I had no choice but to answer the door as is.
I let this stranger into my home and laughed, explaining I had forgotten he was coming and was still in my PJs. Please excuse me. The guy was good-natured about it and laughed right along with me, and he explained he would need some time to measure the main floor and the basement, so I had plenty of time to run upstairs and get dressed. Phew.
While I was upstairs, I tidied up our bedroom a little and opened the shades so the appraiser wouldn't feel as though he were walking into a cave, and I ran back downstairs in a more presentable state. I was put back in my place when the guy looked at me and laughed all over again, but there you go.
After the appraiser left, I went back upstairs to shower, and that's when I noticed the dust on the bedroom floor. I wouldn't have seen it had I not raised the shades and let in a little light. So, I got out the Swiffer duster thing, the one with the low-powered vacuum feature, and I cleaned the floor. It only took a few minutes, but that's all it takes to throw out the back of someone with a sciatica issue. I have one of those, and by the time I had put the sweeper back in the closet, my left hip had seized, and I was leaning decidedly to the right.
I hurt, just a little, but just enough to know that I need to nip this in the bud right now before it blossoms into a raging, wincing, paralyzing, please amputate my ailing parts now! situation. The stretches a chiropractor once gave me help, so I've done those, and I've relaxed my breathing, which can help as well. And I carefully made my way down the stairs one at a time and positioned myself in the dining room chair, the one with the soft seat cushion but the hard back. That helps, too.
And here I sit. And here I'll stay until I'm assured I won't end up screaming for traction if I get up. And here I am wondering, why is it that some self-medicating practices are acceptable, and some aren't.
The last time this happened, I needed a muscle relaxer more than anything, but I didn't have those around the house and didn't want to make an appointment with the doctor who would have me sitting uncomfortably in his waiting room for an hour, and then another 30 minutes in the examination room, just to get a prescription, so I had a glass of wine instead. And then another and another until my muscles were unclenched, and I was pain free. Of course, I was also a little schnockered, and my neighbor made me play the piano to see how a drunk person can handle Claire de Lune (not well, really).
If my back thing gets worse instead of better, I'll consider having wine at mid-day, as much as it takes to cure the ill, but a lot of people I know would think that's a bad thing. You shouldn't do that. These same people wouldn't judge me for swallowing a pill that would have the same effect as a few glasses of wine, though, and there lies my question. Why is it OK to relax your muscles and your mind with a synthetic pill your doctor gives you but frowned upon to, at noon, relax your muscles and your mind with something potable made from grapes? It's natural, it's handy and it tastes great.
I'll ponder this question if I'm unable to tame the spasm, but for now, here I sit. And all because I forgot I had made an appointment with an appraiser.
I was sitting in my living room chair this morning, finishing the first cup of coffee for the day and thinking through an email when the door bell rang. I considered not answering it. I was still in my pyjamas and hadn't showered so my hair was a little like Alfalfa's in the early years, not in the "It's A Wonderful Life" years. But then I remembered that just yesterday I had made an appointment with the appraiser to be here at 9:00ish. I could not send this person away, and I had no choice but to answer the door as is.
I let this stranger into my home and laughed, explaining I had forgotten he was coming and was still in my PJs. Please excuse me. The guy was good-natured about it and laughed right along with me, and he explained he would need some time to measure the main floor and the basement, so I had plenty of time to run upstairs and get dressed. Phew.
While I was upstairs, I tidied up our bedroom a little and opened the shades so the appraiser wouldn't feel as though he were walking into a cave, and I ran back downstairs in a more presentable state. I was put back in my place when the guy looked at me and laughed all over again, but there you go.
After the appraiser left, I went back upstairs to shower, and that's when I noticed the dust on the bedroom floor. I wouldn't have seen it had I not raised the shades and let in a little light. So, I got out the Swiffer duster thing, the one with the low-powered vacuum feature, and I cleaned the floor. It only took a few minutes, but that's all it takes to throw out the back of someone with a sciatica issue. I have one of those, and by the time I had put the sweeper back in the closet, my left hip had seized, and I was leaning decidedly to the right.
I hurt, just a little, but just enough to know that I need to nip this in the bud right now before it blossoms into a raging, wincing, paralyzing, please amputate my ailing parts now! situation. The stretches a chiropractor once gave me help, so I've done those, and I've relaxed my breathing, which can help as well. And I carefully made my way down the stairs one at a time and positioned myself in the dining room chair, the one with the soft seat cushion but the hard back. That helps, too.
And here I sit. And here I'll stay until I'm assured I won't end up screaming for traction if I get up. And here I am wondering, why is it that some self-medicating practices are acceptable, and some aren't.
The last time this happened, I needed a muscle relaxer more than anything, but I didn't have those around the house and didn't want to make an appointment with the doctor who would have me sitting uncomfortably in his waiting room for an hour, and then another 30 minutes in the examination room, just to get a prescription, so I had a glass of wine instead. And then another and another until my muscles were unclenched, and I was pain free. Of course, I was also a little schnockered, and my neighbor made me play the piano to see how a drunk person can handle Claire de Lune (not well, really).
If my back thing gets worse instead of better, I'll consider having wine at mid-day, as much as it takes to cure the ill, but a lot of people I know would think that's a bad thing. You shouldn't do that. These same people wouldn't judge me for swallowing a pill that would have the same effect as a few glasses of wine, though, and there lies my question. Why is it OK to relax your muscles and your mind with a synthetic pill your doctor gives you but frowned upon to, at noon, relax your muscles and your mind with something potable made from grapes? It's natural, it's handy and it tastes great.
I'll ponder this question if I'm unable to tame the spasm, but for now, here I sit. And all because I forgot I had made an appointment with an appraiser.
Comments
Cheers!
And get well soon.