Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Baby Steps

It is a really excellent thing that I am not a Soviet era author. They thrived on the sad, morose, and depressing. I, on the other hand, am an ok writer when I am happy and excel at writing when I am irritated or pissed off. Sad or depressed, that's another matter. Which brings us to my non-existent posts as of late. Routinely this blog has gaps due to being busy and life just getting in the way. Would that I could use that excuse these days.

I hurt my back about six weeks ago and in spite of attempting to rest, ice, heat etc, it only got worse. My naturally busy and active life has slowly ground to a halt with activities such as a game of Monopoly leaving me in tears and rushing for a heat pad. My children are afraid of how often I'm crying. Tim is more than tired of my complaining. It is looking like I will miss the entire spring tennis season. And I am completely out of sorts. Those kind of days are pretty boring blog fodder. Hence the silence.

I'm now in physical therapy and hoping my sheer force of will can bring me back to the land of the active. Eion and I took a mile walk today and it only hurt, well, it hurt a ton. It makes me feel for those in chronic pain.

The kids and I went to the grand re-opening of Art Venture, the hands-on kids area of the Taubman Museum of Art this past weekend.


It was in high gear with lots of enthusiastic volunteers at the ready to make sure everyone had The Best Time Ever! The kids were happily exploring the exhibits, Maggie in her suit and sparkly shoes, 


while I was off to the side dreaming of prescription pain killers. The sweet director kept talking to me, trying to find out what we all thought of the re-vamp and it was everything I could do to be polite. She was perfectly lovely. I just hurt and felt mean as a snake. I think I was relatively adept at hiding how unhappy I was though I felt so unnatural the entire time. Making conversation, with anyone, is not supposed to be a challenge for me. 


He wore these the entire time.


That was about the last straw and I called Monday to set up physical therapy. My insurance has massive co-pays to see the therapist I wanted to go to so I opted for the in-plan location, which is the gym at which I normally work out. I am now the crippled who emerge from the physical therapy area complete with the bing that lets you know the door opened. Holy dagger to the ego Batman. On the plus side, my PT is someone I have known for years who put me at ease immediately.

My wounded pride and I are working hard with hopes of being mobile enough to play tennis soon, my poor team will have to forfeit a court if I cannot, and trying to stay positive, which is difficult when the children laugh at my PT assigned exercises. Baby steps here, baby steps.

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