Over a year ago, I had some surgery to try to rectify a medical situation that wasn't healing itself. All the lotions and potions and notions my doctor tried failed, so snip snip, and I was a new girl.
Or so it was supposed to be.
Turns out, my body is pretty stubborn, and it didn't feel like being healed up quite so easily. Sure, that bit healed the way it was supposed to, but other bits decided to take up the slack. In the past two weeks, I've spent my non-working hours in bed. And some of the hours I should have been in the office were also spent in bed, albeit "telecommuting" in a way from home. Let's face it, when you're writing project specifications, you don't really need to be in the office.
A roll of plans, a word processor, and thou.
Anyway, After 11 days of pure unmitigated physical hell, I went to the doctor yesterday, described to her exactly how severe my symptoms were, how terrible of an impact they were having on my life, exactly what I was doing to try to relieve them (everything she's told me to do, and more!) and asked what she proposed as a solution.
She gave me muscle relaxers, because the ones I've been using weren't strong enough.
I've had experience with oral muscle relaxers before, back in middle school, and again after a car wreck in college. They're okay. They make you kind of loopy and allow you to get a full 12-hour sleep without once waking up, and your dreams are vastly more interesting, to boot. She also gave me some that I have the please of injecting into myself 2-4 times daily, which is, actually, decidedly unpleasant.
They also tend to instill a false sense of confidence the day after you start them when you feel so much better!
I decided, this morning - er - afternoon, when I got out of bed, that I was well enough to go to the grocery store. It's something I haven't done in two weeks, and the staples of my diet - hummus, whole wheat pita bread, apples, carrots, yogurt - were gone. So off I went to the Whole Paycheck to restock my larder.
I am an idiot.
Halfway across the parking lot - going into the grocery store - I regretted the decision. But did I turn around? Did I give up? Heck no! I went right along with my plan. There was hummus and all-natural root beer to be purchased! (Thanks, Dad, for the voicemail that gave me that little craving).
I did use a cart, though, because I didn't want to tax myself too much.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted, feeling slightly light-headed, and weak. I unpacked my goods and retreated to my bed, once again.
I think, at this point, the only option for me is to start wearing Empire-waist gowns and have my parents arrange a marriage for me with someone who has an absolutely Dickensian last name, something like Bottlesnoot or Bandershoot or something. I could be an object of curiosity for the landed gentry all around and could hold court from a fustian upholstered divan in the picture gallery.
Eh. With my luck, I'd probably end up with the gout.