I wake up in the morning and sit up, a good yawn breaking the quiet. It especially broke the quiet as it culminated in a yelp of pain. I froze, not because I was scared, but because I couldn’t otherwise move. The dog – whose immediate morning stratagem is to play with me until she gets her belly rubbed – stopped her goofing and watched me in expectation. I walk like Igor to the bathroom and appraise my pain-crinkled face in the mirror. Ah yes, no doubt about it, my old friend the pinched nerve is back.
I remember times when my mother would be laid up in bed. She’d be in a nightgown and a thick neck brace. She lay on a heated pad. We were to leave her alone (her orders) unless we were bringing food and/or ginger ale. I also remember these times as those when we ate cold deli meats and sandwiches for all meals. Pinched nerve.
In things we get from our parents that we don’t want, my 0 to Mr. Hyde in 2.3 seconds temper and my tendency to show up 40 minutes before scheduled events are up towards the top of that list. But somewhere close – perhaps between my dalliance of ear hair and mild numerical dyslexia – is my conducive-to-pinched neck. Every now and again, my neck decides it will not only go on working hiatus for a while, but will leave in its wake a throbbing, all-encompassing pain. There are people who no doubt have it far worse, but when your neck is causing a headache you wouldn’t wish on Mussolini’s ghost, it’s hard to think of them.
I go to the internet in an attempt to self-heal. I learn some stretches and they are effective, but the cure is not long lasting. Thus I begin acting like an insane person in public. On the tram, metro, in shops and pubs, I break into some yoga, neck bent, arms out. It’s anyone’s guess what I am doing. But I greatly fear that I am being ‘that guy’. That look-at-me guy who does yoga, plays a guitar, prays in public. I don’t want to be the main character; I only want to be pain-free for a little while.
An extraordinary fact about semi-chronic pain – wherever it exists on your body – is that I can’t seem to remember life without it, despite the fact that I have lived most of my 49 years in that state. It’s just there – all the time.
I don’t have kids – a fact that fills me with great joy. Usually. Now, of course, I wish I had someone to bring me food and ginger ale while I recuperated. The dog and the cat, love me though they do, seem to view food and drink delivery as a one-way system. Not that I can’t see their logic, it would not be terrible if the cat suddenly handed me some cake. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be turned down.
