Walking like a pretzel
Swimming in Florida last week did me in, when two days before we headed home on the auto train, I woke up unable to stand, walk or sit because of jagged pain exploding on my left side with daggers radiating into my thigh and calf. I bent over like a pretzel, shuffling forward like a 90-year-old. The pain was only second my ‘kidney stone time’ 20 years ago. A neon sign flashing ‘life as I know it is over’ seared my mind.
I've always been in concrete denial about my body aging, but I had no choice but to accept it now. The pain was not going away. If fact it was getting worse. Upon my return I hobbled to my doctor seeking relief and reassurance that I would not be a pretzel for life. After testing my ability to move (or lack thereof), he smiled. “You’ve got the same problem as men carrying heavy wallets in their back pockets and athletes who over stress themselves during workouts.”
I groaned like a bleating lamb looking for its mother. “Is it my back? Have I ruptured a disk?” (recent lesson from one of my sisters).
“No. Your back is fine, but your piriformis is pinching your sciatic nerve.”
“My what?” I was clueless so my doc dumbed down the diagnosis. Simply put, I had an evil case of butt pain. The muscle started having spasms, became inflamed, and pinched a primary nerve crossing its path. This confirmed my trainer’s assessment over the phone before I left Florida (I swear the guy knows more about bodies than most doctors). He ordered me to get a standup desk so I could stand more and sit less (a tough task for a writer).
A round of steroid pills (euphemistically named a six-pack) released the knife stabbing pain, but I still hobbled. Stretching exercises didn’t deliver relief. A second visit via video conference (easier than driving to the doc’s office) resulted in both sympathy and sufficient drugs to put a horse to sleep. I swallowed the pills enthusiastically for two days (as instructed, of course), melting myself into a mushy puddle of dizzy haze and drowsiness that sent me ‘to the mattresses’. The couch became my cocoon. Hence, my work stayed undone and my laptop was dead on my desk.
This morning, I whipped my body around to get out of bed. There was no pain. A miracle had occurred. I felt good again so I swallowed no drugs. I was able to work today. The standup desk converter I ordered as directed greeted me. My laptop and I are friends again. I’m alternating between standing and sitting at my desk. And I’m stretching the piriformis by lying on my back, pulling my toes to my mouth (you can stop laughing now). A perfect stretch for the ol' piriformis.
The moral of this story? Variety is a necessary ingredient for a healthy body. I learned that sometimes one can’t think pain away or push through it with frenetic activity (that’s a job for Arnold, the Terminator, perhaps). A few well-chosen drugs forced me to slow down and be patient, to relax and let my body heal.
I’d forgotten how wonderful serious vegging out can be.