I realized late yesterday that it was the 2 year anniversary of my neck, shoulder and back pain--not exactly a call for celebration and song, but just something that popped into my mind.
In fact, however, there is good news (guardedly), in that the pain has of late dramatically decreased generally from what it had been, and certainly very profoundly from what it was two years ago. I look back now and remember just lying on the living room floor in a fetal position, groaning and on the verge of tears, feeling as if there were a Bowie knife stuck in my back just under my right shoulder blade.
For two years I explored medication options and experimented with stretching exercises. No medicine that I found had an effect on the pain, per se, but merely helped by putting me to sleep (Baclofen and Xanax). My feeling always was that tendons needed to be stretched and muscles re-trained, and so I relied upon intuitive measures to accomplish these goals.
Ernest Hemingway once said something like this--that when something good or fortuitous comes along, acknowledge it quietly, but don't put your mouth on it. It's a bit of a superstitious thing, I suppose, but I have always kind of identified with the thought. If you leap up and shout that you are healed, fate itself may be offended and decide to give you a poke in order to show you who is (still) boss.
And, in fact, a new thorn in the side has been provided in order that the retreat of pain should not leave too comfortable a space to rest in. This is in the form of restless leg syndrome--not a new thorn, actually, but a recurring one, showing up and leaving by a whim its own. So while I am now able to lie on my back or on either side without searing pain, and thus to rest much more easily than I've been able to do in a long time, RLS has stepped in to make certain that I do not rest well.
I must say, too, that the term RLS does not do justice to this nightly electrification of the body. Restless Body Syndrome would be much more accurate. I mean, I'm appropriately tired when I go to bed, but within ten minutes of lying down, my body decides that it is time to break-dance. Most folks who know me in the day really have no idea that I am able to move with such boundless contortionate energy. Too bad this symptom never occurs on the dance floor. In fact, it never occurs at any time other than nighttime when I would prefer to be sleeping.
Nonetheless, I'll take RLS over the pain any day of the week.
In fact, however, there is good news (guardedly), in that the pain has of late dramatically decreased generally from what it had been, and certainly very profoundly from what it was two years ago. I look back now and remember just lying on the living room floor in a fetal position, groaning and on the verge of tears, feeling as if there were a Bowie knife stuck in my back just under my right shoulder blade.
For two years I explored medication options and experimented with stretching exercises. No medicine that I found had an effect on the pain, per se, but merely helped by putting me to sleep (Baclofen and Xanax). My feeling always was that tendons needed to be stretched and muscles re-trained, and so I relied upon intuitive measures to accomplish these goals.
Ernest Hemingway once said something like this--that when something good or fortuitous comes along, acknowledge it quietly, but don't put your mouth on it. It's a bit of a superstitious thing, I suppose, but I have always kind of identified with the thought. If you leap up and shout that you are healed, fate itself may be offended and decide to give you a poke in order to show you who is (still) boss.
And, in fact, a new thorn in the side has been provided in order that the retreat of pain should not leave too comfortable a space to rest in. This is in the form of restless leg syndrome--not a new thorn, actually, but a recurring one, showing up and leaving by a whim its own. So while I am now able to lie on my back or on either side without searing pain, and thus to rest much more easily than I've been able to do in a long time, RLS has stepped in to make certain that I do not rest well.
I must say, too, that the term RLS does not do justice to this nightly electrification of the body. Restless Body Syndrome would be much more accurate. I mean, I'm appropriately tired when I go to bed, but within ten minutes of lying down, my body decides that it is time to break-dance. Most folks who know me in the day really have no idea that I am able to move with such boundless contortionate energy. Too bad this symptom never occurs on the dance floor. In fact, it never occurs at any time other than nighttime when I would prefer to be sleeping.
Nonetheless, I'll take RLS over the pain any day of the week.
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