A mess. We are it.
If you were to be around the House of Peevish for the last little while, you’d notice someone hobbling or groaning or vomiting or spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom. We’ve been in sad shape, it’s fair to say.
The good news is: we’re working on it. We are a work-in-progress.
Like me, for example. When That Girl was still That Baby, I found myself sitting and rocking and feeding her several times a day. As you do, when you have an infant. I always had her resting in the crook of my left arm, feeding her with my right. And, after many months of this, I began to find my left shoulder was sore, and I was feeling fairly excruciating pins-and-needles pain in my arm, right to my fingertips.
So I went and got someone at the local physio office to have a look, and it was suspected there was a pinched nerve in or around my shoulder. So I got massage, which was wonderful, and also stopped holding Stinkerbelle in the crook of my left arm, and all was well.
Except it wasn’t a pinched nerve, probably, and it wasn’t actually better. Because in January of this year, it started again. Only worse. Maybe it was badminton, maybe it was lifting weights, maybe it was how I was sitting or sleeping or whatever. But the pins and needles has now become a real, constant pain. And it’s in my shoulder, and my arm, and it’s not happy.
Constant pain, even the dull kind, does not make you a happy person. I was not just sore, I was miserable. And not just to myself, but to That Girl and BDH too. I was not a happy mom or a nice person to be around.
So back to physio I went. And when my shoulder was pushed and pulled and manipulated I found a level of pain heretofore never felt in said shoulder. Turns out, the joint is looser than it should be so the pulling and strain of That Baby plus exercise and work and general life stuff — and my bad posture when sitting at a computer or whatever — has caused no end of hurting bits. So I got taped up and was sent on my way with some exercises, and will have plenty more physio to follow.
In the meantime though… it hurts. Anything that requires me to be 90 degrees vertical or forward hurts. Using my arm hurts. Sleeping hurts. Wah wah wah.
Oh the other side of the mess, there is BDH, who, yesterday, got his gallbladder out. This is the gallbladder of song and story, of many nauseated sleepless nights and painful days. It was a very, very unhappy gallbladder and made BDH miserable for quite a while. So yesterday (after a couple of reschedulings) it was given its eviction notice.
The surgery went fine. The anaesthesia and recovery, not so much. BDH hates anaesthesia, and it does not appear to be too fond of him, either. It took a good three hours and as much Gravol as they were allowed to give him post-op to get him friends with vertical enough to bring him home.
Yesterday, once home, he was dizzy and nauseated and just wanted to sleep it off. Today, he’s struggling with basic movement, just trying to figure out how to do things without engaging his core muscles — which he has to take it easy on for fully six weeks, since he is at risk for a hernia if he doesn’t.
So that’s been fun.
And in the middle, there’s That Girl, who came home on Thursday after vomiting at school. She was ill for a day or two, just a tummy bug. But if there’s a bug going around school, you know for sure she’s going to catch it.
So we’re quite a team.
A few moments ago, I tried to get on the treadmill. It’s been hard since my shoulder has been bad, trying to get some exercise in. A few weeks back, I had to stop jogging because it’s causing some pain in my right achilles tendon — which I will also start seeing physio for on Friday — so I have had to dial it back to just walking.
So today, I tried to do a 45 minute walk on an incline, while BDH and I watched an episode of Miss Fisher’s Mysteries (which is my new absolute favourite show). I couldn’t, because incline = leaning forward = shoulder pain. I had to stop at around 25 minutes. I sat down beside BDH and, at one point, reached for a remote and winced in pain.
He looked over and started laughing. Holding his belly, mind you, so as to protect incisions, but laughing nonetheless. Laughing at what a sad, decrepit pair we are.
We’re a mess, no doubt about that. But we’re working on it.