…Back Again

I was looking forward to my Body Attack class for Tuesday evening, right up until Marayong on the train. I pick up my laptop backpack and have a telltale twinge in my back that I’ve come to respect as a sign to straighten up and pray it’s not too late to avert certain doom.

Although the evening takes a different course from the one I had planned, I don’t think anything more of it. Two episodes of House, M.D. – “It’s not Lupus”, and a failed attempt at doing some work (dev environment in some inconsistent state I couldn’t figure out right then), and feeling very weary by 9:30pm. I go to bed early.

I spend an hour doing that thing where you have audio playing that you think you’re actually listening intently to, staving off sleep… but then you startle awake and realise you’ve missed the first two questions-and-answers of the Writing Excuses podcast, and you just cannot bring yourself to fiddle with the controls to reset it to the start. I take it as a sign I should actually sleep and turn the audio off altogether.

At 3am, I know I am going to be in trouble. I wake up flat on my back, and my back has seized up completely. I have a 15 minute internal dialogue with myself about what to do next. I consider staying flat, but my back is feeling very uncomfortable. I consider rolling over but am dreading the feeling of using my shoulders to push myself around. I consider getting up to go to the toilet; damn, bladder full as well, just what I need.

No matter the circumstances, I almost never forget to think ahead.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and somehow manage to swivel myself into a sitting position with minimal use of my back or shoulders. First, I switch off the alarm on my phone, because I doubt I’ll wake up at 6:30am this morning, and even if I do, I know I’m not going to be nimble enough to dive for the alarm in a timely fashion when it eventually rings. Then, I go to the toilet and seriously consider whether I can sleep upright to limit the tension in my back. Clearly 3am is not a time for reasoned arguments.

For the remainder of the night, I alternate rolling onto my left and right sides with long stretches on my back. Each time waiting until the discomfort grows to a level where it overcomes my fear of the twinges that’ll run through my back when I go for a roll. Adding to that, putting my top arm in front or behind my body is immediately punished with stabs along my arm and shoulder blade, and it makes for an interesting night of careful balance in a half-sleep-state.

I don’t even consider going to work when I finally get up at about 7:15. I leave a message to my team-lead and start working out what I can do to speed my recovery up.

Luckily, it turns out the place I get my massages has a free slot at 10am still, so I book that in first, and then head to the doctors’ office down the road after a shower that takes me to their opening hours.

I bring my Kindle to try and read, but holding it up hurts my shoulder, and balancing it on my knee hurts my neck. I uncomfortably read half a chapter by holding it resting on the top of my knee with my neck slightly tilted and my eyes rolled down. I’m sure I look like a bad version of the Mona Lisa. It feels odd. It still feels uncomfortable.

Luckily the waiting room is practically empty. I try to look at the people in the waiting room with me, but my head doesn’t want to turn further than 45 degrees either side. I stare at the morning shows on the television. I stare through the inane dialogue.

I get a prescription for rest and some Panadeine Forte.

I head out to my massage and arrive 30 minutes early, so I read uncomfortably some more, after taking 2 tablets. Three-quarters through the chapter my head feels swimmy and it feels like reality is my imagination. Deep breath. I fail to read further and listen to a podcast instead.

Getting a massage with Codeine in my system proves an interesting experience. I can feel all the knots, but none of the pain. It is surreal, but far from unpleasant.

I feel relaxed and less sore right now, still a little detached, and absolutely determined to take carrying my backpack properly more seriously. It occurs to me that all those times I traveled to Melbourne and had back aches afterwards probably had little to do with the hotel beds, but everything with the fact I carry my luggage on my right shoulder only. It doesn’t feel heavy to my brain, but clearly my muscles privately have a different opinion. I’ll listen to them more from now on.