I fight hard for the ground this body stands on everyday. Mobility and an absence of pain are not always options for me. I wholeheartedly embrace the philosophy “use it or lose it”. In fact I am so accustomed to pushing chronic pain and limited ability into the background of my days, attributing it’s rising or falling levels to my fibromyalgia, that I managed to let this thing with my arm go almost three full months.
I let it grow from a nagging discomfort into a monsterous rage before driving in blinding agony, (and a fair amount of nausea) from my shift at the book store (which I insisted on finishing of course) straight to the hospital.
After several hours, and tests, and exams (and a welcome shot of something very strong and laced with antihistamine to mitigate its effects on my system), the Doctor explained that I was an imbecile for ignoring a potentially serious injury for three months, and that I had tears in the bicep and tricep of my left arm. He didn’t really call me an imbecile but it was definitely implied.
I was sent marching with strict orders to get rest, take my medication regardless of how much I hate to, follow my care plan, and see my orthopedic guy ASAP. Yeah, at this point I have an “orthopedic guy”. He’s done my right knee, my right shoulder, and now my left arm, and in return I’m buying him a boat. Or partially financing his retirement. I have an orthopedic guy, a rheumatologist guy, a pretty much everything guy. If my body were a car, I’d say the warranties were all expiring roughy around the same time. Life’s a laugh that way.
So now I find myself in a partial straightjacket of a sling, designed to immobilize my left arm and allow my torn muscles time to repair themselves unimpeded by my usually hard driven escapades. It’s both a boon and a pain in the ass. It’s forcing me to slow my roll but it’s seriously cramping my style.
This evening I grabbed the pups leashes and schlepped 3.8 miles with my them. Thankfully they don’t mind the wandering pace of my loopy body as I try to detox it from the course of meds keeping me from having enough stamina and coordination to do anything sincerely stupid, and worsen the muscle tears.
This is not to suggest that I intend to do anything stupid, but I really have an embarrassing track record for poorly considered, wildly impulsive, “push myself past sensible limits” activities that leave me breathless, grinning, and oddly confused as to why I am flat on my ass again. My fledgling self control grows stronger each day, but my “bad idea” game is strong. MAD strong. Yet still I persist.