I think I feel an ode coming on...
Mar. 9th, 2007 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katiefooleryI feel like writing an ode to my back. Somebody stop me. Quickly.
It wouldn’t be a nice ode, though. It would be more like the spiteful little one I wrote to the photocopier at my old work when we finally replaced it with something that actually worked. But odes seem to be my response to situations such as these: when you can’t actually take your problem outside and beat it to death with a 2x4, write an ode about it instead.
Ah, my back - how I hate it so. We’ve never been best friends; never shared secrets with each other; never wanted to spend any sort of meaningful time together... which makes things a little difficult, if you think about it. Every now and then, when it thinks I’m getting a little too complacent about the fact that I have a spine and it allows me to keep myself reasonably vertical, it likes to pull out an attack. For instance, I’ll be sitting at my computer, innocently typing away, only to flinch when my spine jabs at me.
That’s fun.
Then I’ll wake up the next day with a resentful ache in my lower back that doesn’t go away no matter what I do. And I try everything, believe me. Yoga classes have nothing on me when I’m trying to find a position that might relieve some of the pain.
But I’m sort of used to it, for better or worse, so I try to ignore it... which is when my back decides to throw a hissy fit. It’ll wait until I'm doing something completely innocuous, such as walking down the passage, and then it’ll... well, I don't actually know what it does but yesterday it did it about halfway up my back and it felt the way I’d imagine it would if someone jabbed some sort of cattle prod in your spine and turned it up to the highest setting. Gah! Nothing. Helped. Not standing still, not bending over - nothing. Oh, and don't think of taking any deep breaths, because that just makes things worse.
That was all kinds of wonderful.
Why yes, I did stay home from work yesterday. Why yes, this does mean I’m currently on the second day of a five day weekend. And yes, that does mean I needed a medical certificate, because who’s going to believe I wasn’t just lying to secure a five day weekend if I don’t have something to prove I was actually in pain?
Nobody in their right mind, that’s who.
The doctor across the road is closed one morning of the week - guess which one it is? That’s right - yesterday morning! I got to hang around the house until 2pm, or rather, 1:55pm, which was when I left so I could an appointment as early as possible. There were only two people ahead of me, which seemed promising... right up until the first guy went in and didn’t come out for another fifty minutes.
Waiting room chairs = not comfortable.
Having the ability to distract yourself by writing slightly naughty fic whilst waiting = good.
And that’s the saga of my back, although I did forget to mention the habit the doctor has of jabbing his thumbs into sides of my spine to make sure that's where the problem really is.
On the up side, at least I missed out on the staff photos at work yesterday.
It wouldn’t be a nice ode, though. It would be more like the spiteful little one I wrote to the photocopier at my old work when we finally replaced it with something that actually worked. But odes seem to be my response to situations such as these: when you can’t actually take your problem outside and beat it to death with a 2x4, write an ode about it instead.
Ah, my back - how I hate it so. We’ve never been best friends; never shared secrets with each other; never wanted to spend any sort of meaningful time together... which makes things a little difficult, if you think about it. Every now and then, when it thinks I’m getting a little too complacent about the fact that I have a spine and it allows me to keep myself reasonably vertical, it likes to pull out an attack. For instance, I’ll be sitting at my computer, innocently typing away, only to flinch when my spine jabs at me.
That’s fun.
Then I’ll wake up the next day with a resentful ache in my lower back that doesn’t go away no matter what I do. And I try everything, believe me. Yoga classes have nothing on me when I’m trying to find a position that might relieve some of the pain.
But I’m sort of used to it, for better or worse, so I try to ignore it... which is when my back decides to throw a hissy fit. It’ll wait until I'm doing something completely innocuous, such as walking down the passage, and then it’ll... well, I don't actually know what it does but yesterday it did it about halfway up my back and it felt the way I’d imagine it would if someone jabbed some sort of cattle prod in your spine and turned it up to the highest setting. Gah! Nothing. Helped. Not standing still, not bending over - nothing. Oh, and don't think of taking any deep breaths, because that just makes things worse.
That was all kinds of wonderful.
Why yes, I did stay home from work yesterday. Why yes, this does mean I’m currently on the second day of a five day weekend. And yes, that does mean I needed a medical certificate, because who’s going to believe I wasn’t just lying to secure a five day weekend if I don’t have something to prove I was actually in pain?
Nobody in their right mind, that’s who.
The doctor across the road is closed one morning of the week - guess which one it is? That’s right - yesterday morning! I got to hang around the house until 2pm, or rather, 1:55pm, which was when I left so I could an appointment as early as possible. There were only two people ahead of me, which seemed promising... right up until the first guy went in and didn’t come out for another fifty minutes.
Waiting room chairs = not comfortable.
Having the ability to distract yourself by writing slightly naughty fic whilst waiting = good.
And that’s the saga of my back, although I did forget to mention the habit the doctor has of jabbing his thumbs into sides of my spine to make sure that's where the problem really is.
On the up side, at least I missed out on the staff photos at work yesterday.