A Medicated Life

I finally saw a doctor about my back. I’d made the appointment earlier in the week but couldn’t get in until Thursday. I’d initially hoped that the problem would clear up by then and I could cancel, but when you wake up multiple times during the night, yelping in pain because of charley horses exploding in your back, and then you lie there silently weeping and totally motionless because moving anything – even just your right hand less than an inch, I checked – sends even more pain rocketing throughout your body, you realize that your body is not going to fix itself, and if that doctor doesn’t prescribe you some muscle relaxers then you’re going to have to talk to one of the heroin people on the bus and tackle the problem yourself.

The doctor did prescribe me some muscle relaxers. She seemed really cool outside of that, too, so I’m glad the office is so close to home and they don’t have the same “you look and behave like a normal person but secretly you must be a junkie” attitude as my last doctor’s office. I’m so thankful, because although everything still hurts after a week of spasms, it’s still more comfortable than it was before, and also now I can sleep.

Speaking of that, muscle relaxers are amaaaaaaazing. The doctor warned me that I couldn’t take them if I intended to drive a car, use the computer, or watch a serious movie because “these things will relax everything.” Then she told me that I shouldn’t take more than three per day, to which I replied “Jesus, who has time to take three?”

She laughed and said, “Well, I mean, if you have a long weekend without anywhere to go,” and it was as if someone finally understood what I mean when I describe my ideal weekend, only I never even had to tell her.

They did relax everything, by the way, although not in the sudden, heavy fuzz way that sleeping pills do. First I was aware that my shoulders felt looser. Then I was aware that my face was more relaxed when I brushed my teeth. Then I realized that I had had a full sentence-length thought that was absolutely coherent, and a second later, realized that I had forgotten what had just gone through my mind. And that’s when I said “Yeaaaahhhh, it’s working” and went to sleep.

Two nights of this and I feel significantly better. I no longer look like a hunchback, nor am I still afraid of permanent partial paralysis. I’m trying to focus on how much better I feel instead of how I still can’t just go outside for a walk or a run, especially since it seems like I go to the doctor just to be reminded that I’m fatter than I thought I was. And not just because I got weighed, but because my doctor is the teeniest lady who comes up to maybe the bottom of my boob and I might outweigh her by about 80 pounds.

So until I can actually go do stuff without hurting myself again, I’m going to sit here and make a “Get Off Your Ass You Fat Fucker” playlist for when I can do stuff, and I’m going to read more books, and since I can finally sleep, I’m going to take more naps. I’m going to have that long weekend without anywhere to go, just like my doctor recommended.

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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