Pretzel Pain

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. Body to the shape of a pretzel forcing me to shuffle around like a 90-year-old. The excurciating pain was almost as bad as the time I had my ‘kidney stones, 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. It was not going away. If fact it was getting sharper, not duller. 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. My primary doc dumbed down the diagnosis fo me. 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, confirming my trainer’s previous assessment before I traveled to Floridda. 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. This is 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 a tele-appointment resulted in both sympathy and sufficient drugs to put a horse to sleep. For two days I swallowed the pills enthusiastically as instructed, melting myself into a mushy puddle of dizzy haze and drowsiness that sent me to the mattress. The couch became my cocoon. Hence, my work stayed undone, my laptop was dead on my desk

Unexpectedly on the fourth day, I got out of bed—there was no pain. A miracle had occurred. I felt good again so I swallowed no drugs. I was able that day. 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. It’s a laughable position, but it’s a perfect stretch for the ol' piriformis.

The moral of this story? Variety is a necessary ingredient for a healthy body. Sometimes you can’t think pain away or push through it with frenetic activity. Perhaps if you’re Arnold, the Terminator, that is possible). A few well-chosen drugs forced me to slow down to let go and let my body heal.

I’d forgotten how wonderful serious vegging out can be.