Matt had his arms around me resting his chin on my head, and was hugging me tightly. I said (whined, ok? I WHINED) “I think I broke my ass.”
I felt his body start to shake as he began to giggle.
I said, “If you say ‘Yeah, you cracked it right up the middle!’ I’m going to hit you!”
He laughed harder. After his tears abated (TEARS! *frustrated sigh*) he asked what I meant.
“Remember when I fell? I think I broke something because sometimes it really really hurts.” (I fell three and a half weeks ago, so if I had bruised myself it would be mostly gone by now, if not completely gone.)
I appear to have fractured my ischium (I think that’s right). It’s part of the pelvis. Do you have any idea how often you USE your pelvis?? Yeah. For pretty much everything. So…if I stand too long, PAIN. If I sit for more than 23 seconds, PAIN. If I lie down too long, PAIN. I can’t win. Most of the time I’m at a level 4 (on the ER’s pain scale from 1 (bearable) to 10 (someone has to die). When it gets higher than that I try to stop what I’m doing and rest.
Earlier tonight I had a massage because the hamstrings attach there and something about some muscles overcompensating for repositioning to protect the area in pain and swelling and ligaments and blah blah blah. So, massage of the hamstrings which lead to something every woman wants to hear — apparently my ass is swollen.
As if it wasn’t big enough!
After the massage I had acupressure and he said he felt something move which apparently means that “the pain should go away now.” And it did. For an hour or so.
So, me and my big ass are right back to square one: lying on the couch on a bag of frozen carrots and peas (“Honey, where’s dinner?” “I’m sitting on it.” “What’s for dinner?” “Ass veggies.”) as often as possible while taking over-the-counter pain medicine and trying not to walk (except for the occasional hobble to the bathroom where I also get to sit on a hard toilet seat or kitchen for Abby food). I’ve been in so much pain lately that I’m nauseous and can’t hold down food or even stand the smell. (YIPPEE!)
I’m also trapped in the house because we’re on the third floor and two flights of stairs down and two flights of stairs to come home? NO. I can already picture me flopped on the fifth step up from the front door leaning against the wall and crying because the pain is so bad I had to stop and frustrated because I know that no 350 pound Russian weightlifter is going to happen by and ask “Why are you crying, little girl?” and listen to my tail of woe (ROFL…get it?) TAIL?? hahahahaha *ahem* and then carry me back up the stairs, set me gently on the couch and bring me a cold drink and some Subway. I will be trapped on the fifth stair until Matt comes home and forces me to get off my butt and work my way back upstairs. Oh…and I’d also have to carry Abby down and back up and I really don’t see that happening at this point.
By contrast, someone else with this problem has crutches to keep the muscles attached to her pelvis still when she walks, is taking Percocet and Vicodin for pain and is lying down almost constantly and was told to expect a 6-8 week recovery time.
Uh. I have no crutches, no prescriptions and a 12 month old.
One of my friends years ago told me there’s never a dull moment in my life.
The legend lives on.