Sunday, August 07, 2005

Newsflash: I'm not 20 anymore

This is a picture of my pooch. Doesn't have anything to do with this entry, I just like her.

Remember when you were 20 and you could pretty much rip off your own foot to play the drum part of Yankee Doodle Dandy on your head while hopping ten miles in a parade, re-attach your foot, have a couple pitchers of beer to celebrate, go to sleep and wake up in the morning with no signs of damage. And remember how you knew you were better? You felt better.

I am not 20 anymore.

I know this is not news. I know that I'm closer to twice 20 than Oksana Baiul is to complete anonymity but I haven't somehow learned the lesson that healing is a different ball game now.

On Friday I made the most enormous mistake of saying out loud, "Wow, my neck and shoulder really feel better!"

On Saturday I realized, "Wow, I aggravated the injury yesterday and I'm in a lot of pain."

So, being that I'm still unaware of the rules of over 25 healing, I decided that I would put off taking the muscle relaxants because those would make my brain fuzzy.

After a 2 hour nap as a vain attempt to reduce the pain I got up and headed to Manhattan. The mission: a wedding present and wrapping for said present, disposable heating pad, dog biscuits.

2 hours later I was home again with a wedding present, wedding wrapping (that it turns out isn't going to work), bags to pick up after the dog, disposable heating pads and $100 worth of new clothing.

As it turns out pain makes you just as shitty a shopper as pain medication. Huh. go figure.

Pony Express says that muscle relaxants don't make the pain go away necessarily, they just reduce your Give-a-Shit about it to manageable levels. They reduce your Give-a-Shit about everything else, too. Worried about finances? Oooo, pretty jacket. Worried about hydration? Mmmm, extra sweet soda to juggle with backpack and 62 shopping bags. Hungry? Oh, nice, there's peanut butter and ice cream and cereal, yay!

I took a muscle relaxant a couple hours ago and now I'm going to pay some bills. Hee! That should go well.

Lesson: I'm not cured. I'm not. Feeling better? Not a sign that I'm cured. Stay careful. For, apparently, 6-8 weeks.


  1. Doesn't that SUCK!?! I don't know about the "ripping one's foot off" bit, but I DO remember not having to wait the better part of TWO MONTHS to recover from something. And the body's ability to heal (well, MY body, anyway) seems to have little to do with one's overall health - I'm in pretty good shape, I exercise and eat (reasonably) well, but I still have a maddeningly slow recovery time lately - and the DUMBEST things (sneezing, turing around to back out of the driveway, reaching for a can of Diet Coke) aggrivates whatever injury I have (currently a fussy wrist, which really sucks when I'm trying to teach a yoga class...).

    What I'm trying to say is; I hear you, Girlfriend. You and I are together on this one; we who are closer to twice twenty than Oksana Baiul is to annonymity.

  2. If that dog had on a red sequinned costume, she would look a lot like Oksana Baiul. Wait a minute.....

  3. She looked damn good as Oksana, thanks to you, too. Humiliated but good. Sadly I don't have a digital picture of that costume. Do you know anyone who does?