Well... this summer is definitely not going as planned. I'd had visions of working my land, harvesting my garden, and having the yard, all one acre of it, looking amazing when Mick returns--whenever that may be. I'd had furniture refinishing on my list and a shifting out of furniture to somewhat transform this humble abode. I'd also planned on a personal transformation. In fact, I'd just placed some of my best exercise DVDs next to the player in the living room thursday morning, with the best of intentions and great determination--if Mick is going to come home skinny, I wanted to surprise him with my appearance, too.
Then thursday evening came about. All plans abruptly changed. ALL plans. There I was, minding my own business, being a good little haus frau and doing the evening dishes, when apparently I spilled a small amount of water on the floor...Then I stepped in it and a scene out of the best slap-stick comedy ensued. Forgive me if I found it less than humorous. I'm going to spare myself the revelation of all humiliating details, but suffice it to say I WIPED OUT BIG TIME.
Slow motion, a sense of startled surprise, an inability to stop the motion that had been put into action, and then a prolonged agony. And, oh yeah, a real sense of horror. The implications began to bombard my brain through the acute pain. Can we say excruciating? I lay on the floor, writhing, moaning, nauseated, and saying more than just a few bad words. Most of them were repetitive. None were particularly creative. They were heart-felt.
I seem to have a tear in my hamstring. Considering the many different directions my legs flew in as I flipped up in the air and then crashed, I'm lucky that I just have one injured leg. However, I think my left leg may have suffered two injuries, possibly small tears, because, boy, does my left butt-cheek hurt, too. By hurt, I actually mean mind-numbing agony. This is no stubbed toe or paper cut, and everyone knows, those injuries can draw tears.
I needed to get myself into the bathroom after this to clean myself up and compose myself again. As thursday turned into friday, I still hadn't managed to compose myself much. I did look in the mirror as I left the bathroom and was startled by the raised corpse staring back at me--grey skin, grey lips, yuk.
I called Mick to tell him that I was hurt and that it was bad, really bad. I explained what had happened.
Mick: Sure it isn't your knee?
me: (momentarily wordless, I pull the receiver away from my ear to stare at it and shake my head). Yeah, hon, I'm SURE. My knee doesn't hurt in the slightest, but I have sharp, shooting pains racing up and down the back of my leg, from ABOVE the BACK of my knee and up my butt! Pain so sharp that I can't get my breath and I want to puke.
Mick: Oh, no!
me: Oh, yeah!
Mick: Want me to come home for awhile?
me: NO, NO, NO! You can't do that! You have to stay there and get this store going and all that!
Mick: I can have Lace watch things-
me: -no. I will manage. Somehow. But you can't come home right now. But when you do get here, I'll probably still be fat and the yard will look like crap. Sorry.
Mick: Don't be sorry. None of that matters. You're going to have to stay off of it, you know?
me: Yeah, I realize that.
Mick: I'm serious. Hamstrings take a long time to heal. Athletes end up on the Disabled List for two months before they can play again.
me: Huh? You've GOT to be kidding me.
Mick: I'm not. This is serious.
me: (sigh...sigh...sigh), Crap!
That was basically the end of the exchange. Mick now calls me a ridiculous number of times a day to check up on me. It will be good when the store can open.
Mick's sister, Cheryl, has been a LIFE SAVER! This woman has driven over, picked stuff off the floor because that action will make me break into a cold sweat and have to stifle screams. She fixed the sliding screen door which was refusing to slide; she got the sewing machine back together!!! And then she came back and started mowing the lawn. You know, the ONE ACRE of lawn. Her friend Joannie scooped poop for me! They took Sam out to the park. Oh, and Cheryl even bathed stinky Zeus, who shouldn't have needed a bath, but had found something foul to roll in.
I'm so grateful I could cry. However, tears are never far away these days as I try to figure out how to move without agony. Sleep is tough. Really tough. Having children's programming on all night, a night-light substitute for Sam, doesn't make it any easier and my dreams, when I do sleep, have been plagued by creepy talking babies in high chairs. Weird.
Miranda will return in the wee hours of the morning from her big trip. She knows that she will have to help much more than she's ever been asked before. Somehow, I will have to convince her that the less I do now, the quicker I'll get back to normal. I hope. This is maddening. I hate being so inactive. I have so much to do. I had such plans. It hurts to sit at the computer and it hurts worse to sit on the toilet. So a liquid diet and short posts are probably going to be the norm for awhile. If not, Miranda may do some more guest writing. She can write posts about what a pain in the butt her mother is and how did her mother ever manage to slip in the kitchen and get the kind of injury a professional athlete would get? How? How? How? As sorry as I've been feeling for myself, we'll all have to feel sorry for Miranda. This is going to be a shock to her system. Stay tuned...more pain and more drama are on the way...
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