Well, it was bound to end sometime.
Yes, after a healthier start to the year, driven by eating more fruit and veg and cutting the bread out completely, which has led to a brighter, livelier me, and the possible loss of a few pounds from the old waistline, things have taken a turn for the worse.
Not that I’ve stopped the eating regime, you understand. I’ve not given in to the urge to sneak the odd bagel or hit the takeaway too many times. No, the reason for the decline in my health has nothing to do with the diet, nothing to do with the gut.
It’s to do with my back.
Alcohol Free
It was after a trip out, to source a new telly and grab a (healthy) bite to eat, that I exited the car and felt a sudden soreness in the lower part of said back.
As the soreness seemed to be spread across the affected portion, I entertained the possibility of my kidneys complaining but, as I’d not had an alcohol drink for literally some or more days, and was trying to keep hydrated as part of the health kick, this seemed unlikely. A few trial stretches knocked the theory straight into a cocked hat. The problem was muscular.
Flexi-Time
It’s an issue for a wheelchair user, one that I’ve experienced before. Twinging the overused muscles of the back, shoulder, and arms (which, let’s face it, are doing the work of most people’s legs) is something of an occupational hazard. One I’ve experienced on more than one occasion, especially as I get older.
For me, it’s usually the shoulders I suffer with. The odd tweak, hard knots, even a pull or two. The back is less usual but, when it strikes, it’s worse. With an injured shoulder, there’s a range of movement issue surrounding the motions needed to propel my wheelchair, and some discomfort with reaching for stuff, but with the back, you can add in twists, leans, and bends to the mix, too. It makes life interesting and pushing a wheelchair the least of my worries.
So, yeah, the last few days have not been fun. Luckily, Tina, my increasingly long-suffering wife, is on hand to help with most of the day’s tasks. She’s even taken over cooking duties, and turned out some beautiful dishes. Admittedly, one was by way of the local fried chicken shop (diet? What diet?), but I’d put her carbonara up against any dish you care to mention.
Tina, has also played the part of dutiful nursemaid; on hand with paracetamol, hot drinks, soothing words, Deep Heat, and a freshly filled hot-water bottle.
The last of these I’ve been using to supplement the Deep Heat. It’s surprising how effective the soothing heat of a hot-water bottle stuck down the back of one’s jumper can be, even if does make me look a little like Quasimodo’s long lost, far more handsome cousin.
And that brings us up to date. The back might be easing just a touch, but I’m still experiencing twinges when I move, and seizing up when I don’t. Tina has mentioned the doctors, but I can’t see them diagnosing anything than some kind of minor pull, or trapped nerve, and prescribing rest, heat, and paracetamol, and with the criminally under-funded NHS experiencing unprecedented demand as it is, I think I can manage that.
Jump To It
Of course my hope is that it sorts itself out. That I wake up, one not too overcast morning, with a full range of movement. It won’t be a reason to jump out of bed, because, therein lies further injury, but it will free me up, both on the muscular front, and on the actually being able to do stuff front. It will mean driving unimpaired, being able to walk the dog, and generally getting out and about far more easily.
The last of these I’ve been using to supplement the Deep Heat. It’s surprising how effective the soothing heat of a hot-water bottle stuck down the back of one’s jumper can be, even if does make me look a little like Quasimodo’s long lost, far more handsome cousin.
And that brings us up to date. The back might be easing just a touch, but I’m still experiencing twinges when I move, and seizing up when I don’t. Tina has mentioned the doctors, but I can’t see them diagnosing anything than some kind of minor pull, or trapped nerve, and prescribing rest, heat, and paracetamol, and with the criminally under-funded NHS experiencing unprecedented demand as it is, I think I can manage that.
Jump To It
Of course my hope is that it sorts itself out. That I wake up, one not too overcast morning, with a full range of movement. It won’t be a reason to jump out of bed, because, therein lies further injury, but it will free me up, both on the muscular front, and on the actually being able to do stuff front. It will mean driving unimpaired, being able to walk the dog, and generally getting out and about far more easily.
Until then, I’ll just have to get used to the Germoline smell of the heat cream, look imploringly at Tina, to refill my hot-water bottle, and see if she’ll make a brew while she’s there.
You know, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound half bad, does it
Until next time...
***
Hey, folks! If you would care to take a look at some of my more creative writing, then the links below will transport you to the magical worlds of two anthologies my short (and in one case, very short) stories have been included in. Feel free to check’em out!
Death Ship
Reaperman
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Reaperman-Drabbles-3-Legends-Night-ebook/dp/B099NNPTQ1A
No comments:
Post a Comment