The Pains in My Ass :)

It was sit up time. I can’t tell you how many months it’s been since I’ve done sit ups. Karen, the wise and kind, asked me if I wanted a mat for under my back. I declined.  And, that was my first mistake.

I sat up aggressively over and over. And consequently lost skin on my butt. It’s a thing that’s pretty normal, but that typically doesn’t become anyone’s business but your own.

My next fun mistake this week was to believe that I could do a workout with cleans at 115 pounds. Many folks can, but I am apparently not one of them.

Cleans are taking a barbell from the ground to up in front of your shoulders. It’s a lift that’s poetry in motion when done correctly. When I did it at that weight, it was more like a ransom note written by a 1st grader. I caught it ugly more than once. I ended up with a lovely green bruise on my chest, and a sucker punch of a pain in my left hip. Fine. My error for lifting with shit form, I’ll work around it, and it’ll be okay.

Three days later, I was doing deadlifts. The weight was not terribly heavy, 165 pounds. Things were going “old lady lifting” smooth until they really really weren’t. I was pulling the bar up, and the universe was like “naw bitch, sit down.” There was a pop in my hip. I crumbled, cussed, rolled out, and pared the weight WAY back so I could finish the workout.

But I was fine. I went outside later and tried some banded muscle ups. I was okay. I sat for 3 hours on a webinar training, and was fine-ish. Nauseous, and couldn’t get comfortable, but fine.

Then I did the craziest athletic thing yet for the week, I was (wait for it…) unloading my dishwasher. I bent over on my right leg. There was a sharp sensation, tingling, and the next thing I know, I was laying on the ground. I spent several minutes trying to get up, but I could not. This, and the pain, made me cry. I had a moment to inspect the underside of the cabinet and realized it needs to be re-finished. I made a mental note to get on that.

Finally, I realized I needed to call to my dear hearing-impaired husband who was watching TV on the other side of the kitchen. He’d heard nothing of my dramatic fall. I called. No answer. I tried to get up for a while more. I called again. I imagine that he had a moment of “did I just hear something?” before he came to the kitchen. His face told me he was worried, and I felt really bad for that.

While I thought that I’d be fine once I got off the ground, he made it clear that going to the ER was not a choice. He was taking me regardless of my protests.

The ER is weird right now, much like the rest of the world. He was not allowed in. I was left to myself, trying desperately to avoid COVID so people can’t have their satisfaction that I got it after going to the rodeo. But I was in so much fucking pain that I was touching everything as I writhed and wept.

Triage decided it was a sprain of my sacroiliac joint. The PA said it’s sometimes called the “sac” joint and I giggled because my sense of humor is that of a 14 year old boy (Deez nutz!). It should heal on its own without any major intervention. The plan was to address my pain. They were going to inject a muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory IN MY ASS THAT’S MISSING SKIN. Cool.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the years forming opinions about med seekers. I think the universe may have given me this awesome experience to help me expand my empathy on the subject. The nice nurse was understanding about my chapped butt and gave me the injections. I was “chilling” in the room for about an hour. I googled things such as “how long does it take for an IM muscle relaxer to make the pain stop” because I was still in a lot of pain. I looked like an alligator whose just taken prey as a I twisted and turned just trying to find a comfortable spot.

The guy came back and asked how I was doing. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I’m still hurting. I was expecting the shots to stop it.” I started to cry when he said that he was going to get morphine. “Have you ever had morphine before?” “Uh, I think so after I had a cesarean.” That shot stung like a mo-fo. I told him that there’s a bunch of calves that would have loved to see me stung by a shot. And then I told him the importance of seeing the rock walls out Ash Creek road. And then I felt better for several hours.

More humbling lessons came from the universe the next day when I went to fill my prescription for 12 pain pills and 15 muscle relaxers. The pharmacy clerk asked if I’d filled prescriptions there before. I thought I had, but I guess not. Apparently , this is a trigger for folks when getting pain medication. Another way she could have assessed the situation is that “maybe this chick doesn’t get medication often,” but naw. Maybe I was suspicious. After all, I have taken opiates in the past. In 1999. When I had a baby cut out of me!

 The lecture and judgment was unwarranted. And it got in my head. Am I med seeking? There’s no cool outcome to explain my pain. Like, I’m not having a baby or needing surgery. I’m thankful for the wisdom shared with me that it’s okay to take pain medication when there’s pain. Then I got angry at big pharma for creating circumstances where people feel like they have to question if someone really is having pain.

This week has been bursting with things that have been pains in my ass. Hopefully I’ll have learned some valuable lessons from this all and can put it all behind (oh!!!!) me.

If you hung in there, thanks for reading. 🙂