Me: Hey, honey, how's it going?
John: Okay. How are you feeling?
Me: I called to tell you I showered and dressed myself! Isn't that great?
John: So I don't have to sell the house?
WTH? See, he wasn't trying to be darkly funny, He. Was. Serious. This is my non-pessimistic husband. I get an injury that he has seen improve over the weekend and he is already planning for me never to be able to go back to work. He claims it's a "plan for the worse, hope for the best" coping mechanism. I fail to agree. I think it's fatalist. I will own up to being a pessimist for most of my life, but this guy makes me look like freaking Doris Day, complete with sparkling smile and bluebirds flying out of my ass.
Bless him, I love him dearly. But this stresses me out! And stress hormones do not help the healing process, not to mention my milk supply for poor Max, who has not been handling this well, either. Naps shot to hell by repeated trips in the car, and he's not getting what he needs from me either, in the way of my being able to hold and cuddle him. Thank God For My Mom! She now qualifies for sainthood. She will at least tell me it's going to be okay and nurture me while John is being sullen and planning to downsize. I guess there's something to be said for being totally honest, and he is definitely there. Sometimes you just have to fake it for the ones you love. I mean, if I had terminal cancer would he just look at me each day and say, "you know you're gonna die, right?" I hope I never find out.
So, anyway. Update. Right. Jim Bob adjusts me yesterday, noonish, and tells me to keep icing the back and move around as much as possible without causing spasms. It's more sore than when I went in, but normal, he says. We stopped a couple times on the way home so I could hobble around the car. Better than when I first left the office. I'm feeling optimistic. So, after I get home, I tried to get up a couple times an hour and walk around some. It's getting progressively worse, and after sitting at the table for 10 minutes I had to have help getting back to bed. I texted JB and he said anything he did will cause it to flare up, but it should be better in the morning.
Meanwhile, Max is getting ready for bed, and has gas trapped in his stomach from fussing because he was tired because he hardly napped all day yesterday. So ensues a time of screaming, not as bad as the one he had Monday night (that one had my mom looking for hernias), but not fun either. It is agonizing to watch your poor, sweet infant in such pain and not be able to help him. I know John was doing all the right things, but moms out there will understand how I felt. Luckily this one didn't last long, and I was able to nurse him to sleep. Took my cocktail of homeopathic and traditional meds, and we both slept fine last night.
I get up this morning and it's better than last night, but not as "good" as yesterday morning. Now, instead of my back hurting when I step down on my right, it hurts when I step down on my left. Had a couple of minor spasms this morning. Hard to walk completely erect. Now all the negativity I've sensed from a certain person is starting to chink my armor. I knew it would. So I begin the descent into my own Pit of Despair ("Don't even think about trying to escape")
After crying on my mom's shoulder, (figuratively...she was actually bending over my prone form) I texted JB to get some objective opinion. He said: "We want it to change and move because that means the body is shifting and healing from the original area of injury. All good changes." Well, that makes me feel a bit better. But I wish I knew how long this was going to take. I am scheduled to work on Friday and Sunday, and also it would be nice to be able to care for my son as soon as possible. But I am not rushing things, just laying on the ice pack and taking my cow spleen capsules, et al. Drinking lots of water. Oh wait, I haven't been. Better get on that water thing. And praying, praying, praying.
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