So just after I got back from Vegas Expedition 2007, I put on a pair of really snappy wedge-heeled sandals and took the kids to the mall to play on the indoor playground.
Those heels? They were really tall. So as I bent down to pick up Tobin, putting my weight into my heels and hauling all 20 pounds of him up onto my hip, something in my leg went "snap".
Now, I have pulled muscles and such before, and I thought, okay - this is bad, but not the end of the world. I marched my happy hiney (kids in tow) to Old Navy and got a pair of comfy flip-flops. Changing promptly into this more sensible footwear option, I found that my leg was still uncomfortable but no longer excrutiating. I figure I'd baby it for a few days, live with some soreness, and it would heal up just like every other of the million self-inflicted injuries I have endured at the hands of my own clumsiness.
Fast foward about 3 weeks: The injury faked me out with a brief lull for a few days, followed by a ramping up to intolerable levels of pain. Finally, I overcame my innate resistance and scheduled a doctor's appointment.
Of course, the doc still isn't sure what's causing the pain (which is exponentially worsened by going from a sitting position to a standing one). He has instructed me to take a muscle relaxer as needed, take hot baths, do some gentle stretches, and alternate a heating pad and ice to the area. This is no mean feat, as the area starts somewhere around the base of my spine and now radiates down through the back of my thigh, knee, and calf muscle and terminates a few inches above my ankle. That's a hell of a lot of ice, people.
If it's not better in 10 days, I'm supposed to schedule a follow-up for an MRI. Righteous.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please meet the only woman in America capable of doing herself a severe injury just by wearing shoes. If it turns out to be some gnarly injury requiring surgery, please just put me out to pasture and call it a day.
This reminds me of my death. No, really! I have always told T that I would like to be creamated and scattered over the harbor at Camden, Maine. It's the place I was happiest in my life, curled up in our room at the Norumbega Inn with T, playing scrabble in front of the fire place.
I now officially change my position, however. In the event of my death -- or in the event that this stupid, simple, klutzy mishap has caused irreparable harm to my poor leg, I hereby request that I be cryogenically frozen - until such time as the cloning process be perfected and medicine advanced to the point that my brain can be uploaded into the cloned body of Katherine Heigl.
How cool would that be? So much easier than the thought of living with this stupid injury -- one which necessitated that T assist me with putting on my underpants this morning. Now that is GLA-MOUR, baby.
3 comments:
Ahem. You need to see a D.O. that does OMT. If you can't find one near you, you're just gonna have to come back and I'll fix you myself on my wicked-cool OMT table.
Forget the MRI. That'll be worthless.
My $.02
I'm going to the doctor today also, but for a neck/shoulder injury. The source of which I still think came from sleeping wrong. It's been a week now and it's getting worse. allie's comment would probably be helpful for me, but I don't get the abbreviations. A "Doctor Outstanding" perhaps, that does "Offers Mutually Tribunal?" "Ocean Mating Turtles?" "Often Much Talking?" Damn, I know I'm close.
Haha. Those were very good guesses! D.O. stands for Doctor of Osteopathic medicine. They learn the same stuff as MDs plus the thing that sets them apart from MDs, which is OMT--osteopathic manipulative therapy. For lack of a better description, they're real doctors that also do sort-of chiropractic work, though they have more training and more techniques than most chiropractors. A D.O. could totally help with your shoulder/neck thing.
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