Back chat

I’ve just spent the better part of 4 days flat on my back in bed.

And not for any fun reasons either (none of the ol’ nudge nudge wink wink going on here, I can assure you).

Nosiree, the culprit of my current bed-a-thon is the shower in our ensuite.

See, my Beloved and I decided our joint New Year’s resolution was to finally finish off the plethora of renovation jobs on the boil in our home (OK, I decided, my Beloved begrudgingly agreed- only after the wardrobe fell apart in his hands whilst moving kids’ bedrooms around).

So I arranged for a “no-obligation measure & quote” from a local company that does the lot- kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms. Unfortunately, the only time the sales rep had available in the foreseeable future was 8am last Wednesday, which meant I had to get up at some ungodly hour of the school holidays, and do a quick tidy up in the relevant rooms.

After preparing and putting away the breakfast items in near-record time (if you have kids you know how long that can actually take), I made the fatal decision to give the showers a quick scrub before the fellow came in with his tape measure (didn’t want to leave any telltale soap scum or rogue body hairs, if you know what I mean). So I squat down in the shower with spray and brush and set to work. Since I have a pre-existing back condition (slipped and bulging discs, bilateral pars defect, sciatica, nothing too outrageous) I was taking proper precautions, using a long handled brush and not staying in one position too long. Apparently I wasn’t conscientious enough as my back kept grumbling about the activities long after I’d finished.

I survived a play-date at Maccas through a haze of pain, before returning home with barely enough time to restock the kids, pack the swimming bag, and head for lessons at the local pool (for more on that particular excitement, see ‘Sink or Swim’). Still struck by some foolish urge to clean house, I was merrily (if not stiffly) hunkered down in front of the front loader when my back seized with an ungodly pain, and I froze in position half-up/half-down. Calling for the kids to get daddy to help me, I was in too much pain to even laugh at the way they both barreled into the bedroom shrieking “Daddy, daddy, mummy’s stuck! HELP!!”

My bleary-eyed Beloved staggered into the laundry which is so small one can’t turn around in it at the best of times, and did his best to drag me upright, helping me across the hall to the bed where he all but dumped me. Well, I was so incapacitated I couldn’t even remove my shoes, let alone reach for the trusty painkillers on the bedside table. So while he managed to get the kids off to their 30 minute lesson (albeit 15 minutes late) I lay on the bed dreaming of pain relief.

Thankfully he didn’t have to work that night, and next morning was in charge of the children while I still lay in bed and moaned (obviously, I need to find me some stronger painkillers). Unfortunately, nature called, as it generally does after the bladder brews away all night long, but when I attempted to sit up to get up, I was overcome with the instant and intense urge to vomit. Deciding I’d rather do so in private, I somehow managed to roll and crawl across the bed and into the bathroom (with my Beloved hovering concernedly nearby). I then experienced perhaps the most terrifying few minutes of my life.

If the waves of pain and nausea weren’t enough to contend with, I then started that shivery sweaty stuff you sometimes get- and my vision blurred then went black. Lucky I was sitting down because I couldn’t see a damn thing. I even had to put my hands to my eyes to make sure they were open! I had literally ‘blacked out’. Now if you’ve ever experienced this, you’ll have some idea of how I felt. And if like me, you are prone to the occasional panic attack, you’ll know just how much worse the sweating and shaking got! I was literally dripping with perspiration. Not that I could see it at the time.

Now, I have given birth to two decent-sized children- without epidural- but I have NEVER felt the kind of pain radiating up and down my back.

So I spent the next 3 days either flat out or sitting propped up on pillows, trying not to go any further insane.

And now there’s Vegemite on my foot.

If you must know, my Beloved had to work last night and I dropped the lid whilst making toast this morning. Since I can’t bend over I attempted to pick up the lid with my foot. Obviously my lower digits are not as dexterous as I would like, and all I managed to do was to flip the thing over, smearing the black stuff across the tops of my toes.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

So I’ve decided to leave the housecleaning caper to Cinderella et al for the time being. But since my fairy godmother is also taking extended leave, meanwhile the washing’s piling up, there’re dirty dishes in the sink, we’re running out of everything, and my To-Do List is so not getting Done.

What’s that old saying: you know you’re getting old when you back goes out more than you do… all I can say is Hellllooooo Old Age!

Jx
©2010

How Much can a Yogi Bear?

I’ve heard heaps about what Yoga can do for you.

Since I’ve had a lot of trouble getting moving over the past couple of years, I was happy to join in when a couple of mums from school suggested we give it a go. There’s safety in numbers after all.

The workout started with me wriggling into gym tights that have sat on the shelf a little too long, if you know what I mean. I’d already worked up a small sweat just pulling the leggings up, but at least I got a head start on the warm up routine.

The first inkling that the class itself was going to prove interesting was when the lady alongside us asked that we move our mats over in case anyone got kicked in the head. I thought that was rather ambitious, as the chances of me getting my legs higher than my own knees were a whole lot slimmer than the lady making the request (I didn’t realise I’d signed up for the skinny minny class- my bad).

Unfortunately, the subsequent shift to the left parked me right alongside the abandoned bags and footwear of the other participants; a fact which became painfully obvious as soon as we started the deep breathing exercises. Someone needed some odour eaters, and how!

If my eyes weren’t watering from the very effort of putting myself into the positions being ably demonstrated up the front of the room, they certainly were whenever the instructor said ”Now roll your head over to the left and take a deep breath in.”

By the time we reached the part where we tried breathing through alternate nostrils (to involve the mind and invoke a better intake of oxygen, don’t you know)- I found it easier to only partake of half the exercise, inhaling only on one side…the one farthest from the shoes.

So there was great rejoicing on my part when we moved from the floor to our feet, and even the indignity of being the only one needing to call out “Timber!” whilst in the tree position didn’t worry me nearly as much as the thought of more mat work.

I must admit, I was feeling pretty good about myself as the class progressed- I even managed to touch my toes at one stage which proved highly motivational for someone who has trouble seeing her feet from time to time. It’s reassuring to know they’re still there, at any rate.

But my confidence only went so far, and at one point I felt I was channelling Yoda moreso than doing Yoga: getting everything backwards I was.

While I was leaning to the left everyone else was off to the right. Or I was saluting the sun while the rest of them were doing the downward dog. Worst was when I was bum up while all the others were head down. Not a good look for a beginner, I can tell you, especially in tight tights.

I bravely struggled through, and am proud to say I completed the entire hour and a half without once whimpering out loud.

Even though by the end of class, I was half passed out from the chloroform effect of the joggers beside me, yet barely able to move myself away from the offending odours, as my lower back reminded me of why I was there in the first place- it seized up and I found myself still making like a snake long after everyone else was upright.

I’m happy to report though, that I completed the class and even earned congratulations from the instructor.

I was happier still when the others suggested we hit the closest café for coffee and cake.

So, home I come, feeling better for giving it a go and able to report that I am feeling the effects already- even if it’s pain instead of pleasure at this stage.

Who knows, by this time next year, I might be flexible enough to kick that lady in the head after all. Especially if I find out it was her shoes alongside me.

Jx
©2009