Sneezes

Mouse-shop.



Still suffering from a moderate head-cold. The sneezing fits, leaving me in tears, are good in one small way. Proof that my back is pretty much healed. Nothing quite like a hard sneeze when discs are herniated. Strange, in the middle of my worst pain, there seemed no end to it. That I would live the rest of my life always hurting. Well, five years of never a moment without pain does tend to suggest a certain permanence. Even after I got it controlled, a hard jolt would light it up all over. A sneeze is difficult to brace for, and all my techniques to protect my back are subverted.

Yesterday, I had seven hard sneezes in rapid succession, and my back barely murmured a vague warning. Hardly audible over the complaints of my eyes streaming tears.

Anyway, not really feeling sick, well not much. Irritated. Taking various drugs to keep down the congestion. Off to make more hot tea right now.

Oh, I keep forgetting to put this up, a bit of merch from Surviving the World. I don't do bumperstickers, or I'd be sore tempted.

Soil

Made it to the north corner, about a foot wide swath, after work. Came home tired and strained, a cup of tea and a nibble, then dug in the late sun. Further to go, but all feeling very doable although certainly not done.

Using the excess soil, sifted, for the close planter box. The phrase "sons of toil covered in tons of soil" circling my brain as I worked. It's all laborious, but the point is thoroughness, not speed. I love efficiency, but this is not that kind of job. This is picking through every bit, caring for the tree roots, expunging the invading weeds, caring for this little spot of earth, and it's ability to give a home to the bees and spiders, bacteria and nematodes, birds and cats, as well as whatever other creatures may find solace here. Do it right now, and not have to do it again. Keep watch, maintain, but the bulk of the job done for as long as I need it done.


Neighbor with her babby stopped to chat and give us cookies* for a few minor kindnesses. She's fine with me taking said cookies into work, expected it really, with just the two of us. We try to be good people, nothing much really. She's looking so much better, recovering from pregnancy and premature delivery. Babby is a bright and lovely child, starting to find physiological stability from a too-early start.

My poor old back is dealing rather well, reassuring me that it really is largely healed. Normal sorts of aches, nothing electric, nothing persistent. After so long, this is so reassuring. Five years of constant pain, then the long, slow diminishment, leaves me here. Nine years on, and although I have to take care, use the roller, do my exercises, most days, I'm pretty good. Even when I've been digging and shoveling and pulling, after a solid day at work.

It's been a number of years since the last real migraine.

Incremental progress, only visible from a certain angle, after a stretch of time or distance.




*Store bought chocolate chip. Nice, but not our thing these days. OR people will demolish them with pleasure.

Wary

Migraine means severe,
Hug the toilet, head to floor,
This is migraine lite®.


It's been many years since I had what I would consider a real migraine, with nausea, vomiting, blinding agony, acute photophobia, hours of earnest motionlessness, darkness, and stifled sobs. I've had a few migrainous days, here and there, sinus pressure, neck aches, belchy, a sense of unrightness, that fades by late afternoon - just as the big M Migraines once did. Or, even less, although it does have a particular flavor, this is just a whiff rather than being slammed to the ground.

I'm very grateful, that these episodes that have plagued my life are fading. That I've finally learned to circumvent some of the worst symptoms, or my head is less susceptible for it's own reasons. It's always been as much a matter of chance as intention, I suspect. Never could clearly identify a trigger, nor a sure-fire remedy. Higher fiber in my diet, irrigated sinuses, emotional health may be helping. Hormonal changes? Dunno, not for sure.

Merely achy and weird, considering the alternatives, I'm immensely relieved and grateful.

Perks

My shoulder has been sore the last few weeks, so I finally had the will - and opportunity - to corner one of the surgeons for advice. It really is amazing to see anyone in full skill mode, and with someone so able and well trained, it's a kind of joy. I was able to be an oddball example, so he seemed to enjoy the challenge. Nothing like a good biological puzzle for these guys. And they tend to be very generous with their time and effort for the people they work with.

Consider it a perk.

Upshot, my shoulder is stable, probably a capsular irritation, and he gave me some stretches. Downside? I have something very strange about my bony anatomy. My shoulders do not rotate properly. I couldn't answer the "how long has it been like this?" although after I got home, I think I figured it out. Yes, I think I have. Because in Basic, when I had to do push-ups, I could not make my arms do what everyone else did, although I managed a workaround. To the point that I had no problem passing the PT test, including the push-ups.

So, I have Issues with my shoulder joint, but I'm working on reducing the pain. He seemed to think it was irritation of the capsule, which makes sense, since the muscles all work, it just hurts.

Ligaments

Stiff neck, as we all get once in a while. I remembered once seeing a group of some kind of monk or military men, in India possibly, flinging their long black hair (dreadlocks?) around. It was beautiful and wild, and strange. My own hair was fairly long at that point, and so, of course, I tried to do the same. The next day I realized I'd given myself whiplash.

I tried to join track in high school, had to use the heavier shot, not having the proper weight being the girl's team. Did pretty well with it, but my shoulder was never the same. I believe I did a partial dislocation.

Every time I have tried to do anything athletic, I wind up in a lot of pain. I tear and stretch easily, maybe I'm too sensitive to these minor injuries, maybe I just listen to them. I've never out-and-out fractured a bone. Small evulsion fracture of my big toe, and cracked a knuckle once, nothing much. But my softer tissues injure easily, or at least scream about pain readily.

This is, I think, why my back is still an issue. The herniation is resolved, but the tendons and ligaments are still hurt, the scar tissue lights up the surrounding nerves. 'Why' matters less than, 'what can I do about it?' And some of that is down to how I'm wired up. None of this is new, it's just a variation on a lifelong pattern.

I've tried to stay strong, and I am in some ways. In others - I have no resilience at all. Part granite, part tufa.

Cranial

The best part about a delayed spring, is how utterly welcome it is.


See the bald spots on the backs of his legs?


"Don't show them that. Sheesh."



~munch ~ munch~


The massage school next door has specials every month. For the last three months, I've taken advantage of these offers, since typical, swedish style, seems to irritate my pain more than help. It's a close run thing, really. So, I'm exploring the different modes as the massage students work their way through the curriculum. Hot stone did help, the foot and hand massage was relaxing, but otherwise neutral, the cranio-sacral also seems to have actually done good. It was strange, like acupuncture. At the time, as though it wasn't doing much, but then I'd get a wave of pain or sensation, and ease. Extremely relaxing, and - pudding* as proof, my back feels better than it has all month.

It was the sitting six hours for the literacy class that triggered it. I just don't sit that long in a day at work. I'm standing at the desk charting, or waiting to be asked for an item, or I'm running about. Even when I scrub in on hand surgeries, and I sit on a stool, most of those cases last far less than an hour, and the long ones rarely go more than two. A carpal tunnel release or a trigger finger release can run ten minutes, total, plus MAFAT†.

Moby is not like this. When we need him to come in, he usually does, as long as we ask politely. Like when we moved here, and he'd been hiding far under the sofa as we loaded the car. It was time to leave the old place, and bring the cat with us, I got down and said "Come on, Moby, it's time to go." And he crawled right out to me, as if in answer, "Yeah, yeah don't leave without me." It's much the same when he's out on the balcony and we need to leave.
"Come on in, Moby, we have to go."
"Oh, sure, you betcha."

There have been a couple of times when we've needed to be more emphatic, and pick him up, much to his annoyance. He huffs at us, and wanders off to find a no-doubt-better place. But that's just to remind us that he may be a cooperative soul, but he is still a Cat.


Rouchswalwe, check out the Moving Rant tag, you may find echoes of your own recent move.


*Butterscotch flavor.
†Mandatory Anesthesia Fuck Around Time.

Coffee

Twelve hour long shift. Didn't even want to go in, wanted to ask to get off early. No such. Much running about, much standing and scrubbing, a stint holding a leg in a very unnatural position - for me, not the person who's leg it was. Well, not especially for them, and they got to be under anesthetic. Last case with a surgeon with less than ideal taste in music. And now I have classic hair metal in my head, where it clearly is not welcome, and does not belong.

Although, it does remind me of an evening walking home from the train in Boston, through the Common, over Beacon Hill, and down towards Charles Street. Less populated after dark, a stretch that got my street instincts tingling after dark, and a couple of guys at the corner, another joining them, the rough and homeless type. I strode with cautious bravado, false too-much-in-a-hurry-to-be-bothered, until one started singing, and the other two joined in, harmonizing, "Same old story, same old song and dance, my friend...." They sounded really good, especially so to me in my reflexive defensiveness, and I smiled in relief. I doubt they even saw me as they sauntered away.

D has since wondered if I had in fact spotted Aerosmith. I don't think they are quite that down on their luck, although Steven Tyler was spotted at the MGH coffee shop regularly. Possibly because they had really good coffee* (not that I know, but so I was told.) On the other hand, really good musicians are dime a dozen in Boston.

Reminded me also of walking around Detroit, and seeing young men on the corners. White guys in such groups were trouble, to be avoided by going the other way around the block, or across the street. But groups of young black guys were generally not a threat, although more vocal. They'd comment on me as I walked past, and I would smile, murmur a greeting, and that would be all. I'd been tipped off by an older woman who'd lived in that part of the city for many years, and her advice proved sound. I don't know if it is the same today.

D fed me, rubbed my back with Tiger Balm, and I sit in stunned stupor.




*I really can't stand coffee. Even the smell is repulsive to me. I attribute this to my father's habit of pouring hot coffee on shredded wheat, which smells like wet dog. I tried to drink it in the army, as the only available caffeine, and never could get more than a sip down.

Lazarus

Nothing like going from zero to frantic, vacation to work. Back alarmingly spasming Monday afternoon, night, next morning. Did all the stuff I could think of to help, and by last night, doing much better indeed.

After a serious injury, it's very easy to overreact to pain. Doesn't make one tougher, it makes one more sensitive. Is it going to be as bad, this time? Should I get treatment now, before it gets worse? The most frightened patients are the ones who have have a series of recent surgeries. Not that they less cooperative, just more skittish, tearful, worried. We can learn to cope with the extra dollops of apprehension, perhaps finding an accepting wisdom, but the fear stays. Visible often only in the face of further pain, a repulsion to the idea of more of the same.

Damage is not for making us stronger. A broken bone is weaker, ground up cartilage is gone, scar replaces torn muscle. We heal, but never to where we were. Nothing is ever as smooth, as well laid down as originally grown. We get better, we repair ourselves, regain strength, but marked and changed.

In return we may get rid of our arrogance, and learn compassion. We may have more patience, acceptance of our humanity and vulnerability. That does not come automatically, but has to be wrung out of the pain, extracted and distilled.

Concuss

Listening to NPR on the way home Friday, concerning brain injuries among athletes. This is one of those issues that drives me nuts. Rattle a brain, give it a chance to heal. It's not THAT hard. For stupid sports. Ok, so there is a ton of money involved as well. Just like the massive cost of treating vets for their brain injuries. This really isn't that complicated. Let brains heal when they have been so impacted that they don't work properly for any moment of time. Put lives ahead of short careers.

There is a particular cry with a fresh head injury. I heard it in patients when in nursing school clinicals. Maybe it struck a nerve, because I remembered it from when I lost consciousness as a child around hitting my head on the fulcrum of a teeter-totter with my brothers and cousins on either side. To this day, I'm convinced it is why I have migraines. And I remember, viscerally, how I cried after. Soul deep, marrow deep, gut sobs, as voices told me I would have a "goose egg." They seemed echoed in the young man in the unit with the head bang, but with a history of narcotic addiction and so no drugs for him. One of those moments that will stay with me all my life. And the definition has loosened, not just lack of consciousness, but seeing stars, or other cognitive symptoms after a hit to the head.

None of this is new. But those with the money and power to insist on a standard of care prefer not to bother. Are they ever going to look like self serving idiots.

I sometimes wonder how much this damage still affects me.

Brooking

To the massage school today, got one of the instructors, a therapist who's been working at this for seventeen years. He didn't look old enough, an inarticulate goth kid, awkward and odd. But I knew when he laid his hands on my back he was a skilled professional, the social part not his strong point. I'm always glad to let visual impressions flow away. In this case, they had to sit side by side and be friendly. No wasted effort, no more pain than I could handle, gently, persistently, effective. I knew myself to be safe in the hands of competence, and stayed with each stroke, following with my attention. He also had the gift of silence, which I joined in with. Probably best, given. He seemed to be coaxing out the tension and pain, and brooking no resistance. Absolutely one of the best massages I've ever been given.

Made another appointment in two weeks. Very confident this is going to help. Just walking home felt more stable, easier to move.

Maintenance

Getting an extra day off (low census) this week, which happens to be great. Pain levels up, not so much the back as hips and down my legs, which is another whole ball of worrisome. But ice, nsaids, stim, etc, and the extra day to let the hot spots cool, seems to be having the desired, salutary effect. Hard to lose the hours, good to have the time when most needed. Not sure what else to do, if I can't get the pain down at tolerable levels to last. Today feels hopeful, comfortable.

Went into The King's English yesterday, ordered You CAN Train Your Cat: Secrets of a Master Cat Trainer.* Lovely conversation with the staff about cats, Cakewrecks, and Pratchett, old BBC sitcoms, and that she came from Lancashire (long ago, she sounded local) and that D and I might just be a bit anglophile. I got my English tinged sense of humor by being Canadian. No idea how D came by his. Throwback, I can only assume. Picked up the paperback of Monstrous Regiment.

Got the strong deodorizer on the carpet. Better work, the smell of it is bad enough all by itself, fading slowly. We're trying to be more conscientious about making sure Moby chases every day. Easy to get lazy and complacent. We're going to change that.





*Gregory Popovich

Wimps

Bunch of wimps*.

I am not going to be "feeling better" in the way you mean. I live with pain, the accumulation of injuries, and high sensitivity. I need to be able to report it here, because it's not just for you. I can track my progress, on a searchable medium. It's not the whole of my life, but it is a side of it, often what I cannot express elsewhere. I hide the pain from cow-orkers and friends, only when it interferes with plans do I reveal it as the real reason I have to stop. Can't be coy about it, but I don't want to seem a whiner. Work has been hard, the fall cranked it up a notch. Finally called the company for more electrodes, and I'm on the stim again. Doing what I gotta do.

So, if you really want to offer words that DO help, something more like, be courageous, tough it out, suck it up, don't forget to do your exercises, or best yet, leave a joke. Distraction helps, sympathy really doesn't. It's not a cold, not a temporary state, this I deal with every day, and will for the foreseeable future.

We are not taught the sorts of reactions in response to pain, grief, loss. Most of us flounder, wanting to help, but not knowing what to say. Perhaps because I went to so many funerals as a child, I thought about this deeply. The loss of a child, a parent, a spouse, is an untouchable pain. That person is barely there, and only the presence of friends and family, is of any, however faint. help. A hug, a murmured "sorry" is all that might get through. Easier if the deceased is elderly, ready to go, family more prepared. Stories about the one lost, the kind of laughter that heals and reconnects us to the living. Tears flowing together, and laughter bubbling out.

Much the same, as I have often found with patients with long term disease, is to ask about anything but what fills their current thoughts.

So, when the suffering is chronic, most of us are way past the hugs 'n sorry phase, we need the jokes, the rope to pull us on and the reminders to keep pulling.

I challenge you, then, to practice here. When I report set backs and of days that ache, be creative, not sympathetic. I need this space to be able to honestly bitch about this, so as not to dump on a few people in person here all the time. This is where I store my whines, but that is always the least important part of the writing here. Like those little mood emoticons on Livejournal.





*That's a joke.

Wrought

The last few years have wrought changes, in our lives, in myself. I'm still figuring out what, exactly, is different, and in what ways. Easiest to focus on the lack of dye. But I see a change in my eyes. Maybe because the pain, while still present, is not constant, not oppressive in the same way. Sometimes it feels as though I've made no headway at all, but when I look back, I realize how bad it had been, and is not now. Even on bad weeks, like the last few. I hurt when I move wrong, when I'm very tired. Not every moment. I'm stiff, but I can sit, I can crouch with difficulty, where once I could not at all. It's hard to remember how much better this is.

Ogden

The trip to Ogden is not beautiful, especially not on a smoggy, murky day. But we love being on a train together, so that's alright then.

D wanted to get on the train. I did too, but kept forgetting we were going to do that in the rush of the last few days. Woke sore and with my hands swollen and aching, not eager to leave home. But I gathered my wits, and we got on the train, took the commuter rail up to Ogden. Sat watching the warehouse stores, trailer parks, bland housing development's backsides, industrial scenery pass, doing a crossword and chatting. Ate lunch at a cafe there, and came back. Did us good just to get out, without me having to drive at all. The journey back was full of stupid parents and ill watched children off to the "big city" to shop on the Friday before Christmas. But we enjoyed being together then as well.

I love that I can make D laugh. And of course, that he can make me laugh, even when I don't want to, especially when I don't want to, which is a treasure beyond compare.

I missed getting a photo of the two figures kneeling by a car in the driveway/back of a building along the track, a male and female in robes. Refugees from a nativity scene, looking like they were about to get in a cab. The scene registered, and I immediately checked with D to see if he's seen it as well. Not people, Mary and Joseph mock-ups, out in the weather between two cars. Surreal moment.

Got out the Tiger Balm and rubbed my hands intensely, put on gloves to avoid rubbing it in my eyes inadvertently. Then the laptop touch pad wouldn't work, so I got out my Wacom pad, and the stylus was still attached - to my great joy. I do like using it, but with the touchpad, it's an extra thing to get in the way. Coming in handy now, as my hands get warm and eventually feel better under the gloves. Good to have redundancies.

MRI

Had the MRI today, r/o anything but benign positional vestibulitis. I'm sure it will. Had my head examined, determined to keep serious thoughts out of my head, so that nothing serious will be found.

I had one when I busted my back, or realized I'd busted it to be accurate. Strangely enjoyable. Close my eyes, be still for twenty minutes or so, listen to very odd music and let my imagination poke around, like art modeling, but much more comfortable. I imagined a light show with some of the sounds, others were magic fingers and washing machines. A series of boops made me think of Beaker's vocalizations, but a bit fast, so he became a Beakeresque Max Headroom, with large muppets shaking the bed. Some of the low vibrations put me on the C-130 we were crammed in from Khobar to Eskan Village. The sound overwhelmed, our knees were slotted betwixt each other facing, and everyone fell asleep, after the long journey from Colorado. I dozed today as well.

And I got a free pair of earplugs. Good for Roller Derby.

Taco

We are the walking injured this week. D thought Moby had gotten out, since he couldn't find him, and had left the balcony door open, so went looking for him outside and around. Then made less than ideally considered jump down from a retaining wall. One hand scraped, the other wrist a bit sprained. My own usual sore spots are flared up. So it took both of us to make breakfast this morning, him to bend and me to grab. So that worked out pretty well.




D found Moby. When he got home, there he was, flopped on the floor waiting to be petted, saying "Dude, where were you?" He has a place where he vanishes, and we don't know where it is.

(I had a dream last night about Moby, who was black and white and much fluffier, running out the balcony, up on the rail, then jumped, after hanging in the air for a moment, Road Runner/Coyote-like. My attempts to find him were successful, but bringing him back to the apartment was difficult - involving a reception, no stairs going up, and a large zip-lock baggie.)




We've taken to asking Moby, "Would Sir like his chicken?" or "Would Sir like his belly scratched now?" I washed his blanket, dropped it on the floor momentarily. Which was all it took for him to find it, quite gratefully I must add.



SO, it was with some trepidation we walked to the Living Traditions festival, for the sake of a Navajo Taco* and the hope of a bit of music, dance, or bagpipes. And one of the few places, after having moved here from Detroit, where I wasn't among an extreme minority of dark haired people. This seems less obviously so these days, especially since my hair has gone rather white, mostly. D wore a bandage on his wrist, I had on the electo-stim and knee brace - not visible under the skirt. Both of us felt better for getting out.

We did get the planned lunch, a bit of bagpiping, over-sunned, and had a very good walk.





*Which benefits the Navajo Walk in Center.

Kneecapping

It's not that I'm suffering badly, but the combo of swollen knee and work, has just left me pooped. Any kind of knee bend, squat or kneel is enough to elicit muffled yelps. On the way down, and on the way back up. Ice is my friend, as are anti-inflammatory drugs, elevation, the usual. Today, I have to go get on the cycle, since when one asks an expert for advice, and gets it, it is wise to then follow it.

It's the one on the right, which IS my right knee, because I have Photo Booth on mirror image. Very sad, doesn't look bad enough to get me any sympathy, but the swelling is largely deep in, restricting movement. Improving daily, but damn slowly. Night before last I couldn't tolerate Moby sleeping on my legs, so he got nudged off repeatedly. Last night he didn't even try, which is also a little sad, even if the result would have been the same.

Later today, tomorrow, I will be relaunching the One Word Aloud project. Or at least attempting the recording of same, which probably means Wednesday. I need to be able to hear how I sound, how I come across. Just as writing here has helped me clarify my writing, I need my own, and your, critical eyes, to practice tone, delivery, clarity in my speech and gesture. Not that I even need comments, just knowing someone might be watching, listening, makes it real, not just ideas in my head.

The Toast-misters meeting did not work out at all. I'm not going to spell that word properly, just so's you know. No reason to invite them here. More on that experience later.

Bit

Got bit by a cat today. Had on the rose gloves, or I'd have been hurt much worse. If I hadn't cut off the tips of the index fingers, I'd have been safe, but I need to feel that much. Total feline freak out, with no adequate warning. Washing the finger, soaking in cayenne, will be able to have a hand surgeon take a look at it tomorrow, if necessary. Staff were wonderful, and they had to net the cat.

I seem to have created a Chaos Ball, sucking in misfires and distress wherever I go. This is not external bad luck, this is all some lack of proper attention, some ingrained strain, some maladjusted behaviour. This does not expunge the reactions and complaints and mismanagement of others, but their error negates none of my responsibility. I can guess when I picked up the Chaos Ball, though I don't remember doing it. Like a rubber band ball, I'm sure I added to it gradually over the last few years. Like a rubber band ball, it bounces erratically, which is part of why I didn't see it for what it was. My mis-reactions have been intermittent, which fooled me into thinking I was the same as ever. Calm in a crisis, strong and capable and steady. Only, I'm not that anymore. Not reliably.

I only wish I could just find another job, that the world wasn't going through the same thing as me.

Alert, Brave, Cheerful.

Fluffy puppies, fluffy puppies, fluffy puppies*.





*Grant's positive imagery from the Mythbusters angry vs calm driving myth.

Flu

So, I think what's going on is that I have what could be called a cold in my back. Which is to say, the part of a flu that manifests in body aches, and it's gone to my areas of weakness - head, back, neck, hips. I did very minimal PT this morning, rubbed and iced and heated, then just took anti-inflammatories to max doses and took a nap. This finally seems to have helped somewhat. D also had a wicked stiff neck this week and a lot of body pain. I'm thinking that just treating it like a virus, rest and drown it, give it a week, I should be better soon.


Feh.

Trade

One of my recurrent games of childhood involved figuring out what I would most mind losing. Apparently I had a fixation about health and injury early on. I still do it, as most in the medical world do, seeing a patient suffering. We ask, what would be the worst affliction, knowing we are all in that lottery. My early imagined losses were about going blind or going deaf, and I figured deaf would be a bit more livable - since I would still be able to get around. Never quite figuring on how isolating to not be able to easily communicate with others. I still think I would prefer to keep my sight.

I would have gladly given up my sense of smell, since so many odors nauseated me, but with that would go a large aspect of taste - much of pleasure and appetite. Worst of all would be to lose touch, even in part, for with it goes the ability to move properly, heal, maintain muscle. And it's probably the most common partial loss, because of neuropathies from numerous diseases, strokes, spinal cord injuries, nerve damage or burns. Strange how that never really occurred to me either, then.

Seeing the human body in all it's decrepitude has broadened these considerations. I used to think lung disease would be the worst, but I now figure the brain learns to cope with it, in part. Still awful. I mostly want to take a healthy pancreas to my grave, no diabetes, no autodigestion sort of thing. Bowel disease in general makes every meal fraught. Even dealing with my intermittent chronic pain has it's piquancy, a wearing away of patience and good will. Ultimately I am back to the skin, and any kind of persistent itch, or the poorly understood processes that create it, would drive me mad.

Then I remember the counselor at the Vet Center who talked with me for three straight hours one day after I got back from Gulf War I. Feeling inexplicably distressed at what turned out to be a footnote war, a piece of (dry, gritty, tasteless) cake for me and those I knew well, compared to the nightmare of the Vietnam Era vets. His war. He told me of the worst pain he'd ever had, when shrapnel had ripped apart his leg, the wound that sent him home. But when he got a paper cut, in that moment that's still the worst pain ever. Told me not to compare my pain to other vets, or anyone else, even my own at another time, just deal with what I am faced with, right then, right there.

I know this is my life, now. Accepting that my back will always hurt, sometimes more, sometimes less, but always there, may help me cope better. Because I will always have to do my exercises, take anti-inflammatories on occasion, massage sore spots, move with intent, sit with care, and be prepared to start at the beginning over and over, without ignoring the damage and thereby causing more damage.

It's ok, really. A good trade, nor would I choose differently. I would not exchange a moment of my well-earned pain for anything as transient or false as say, youth or prettiness. But then I would not swap my worst times with D for any moment without him. I'll take what I have, and pay the cost again if need be. Evading it would cheapen the gift of such knowledge, as would simply succumbing.



Off to get some ice, now.