The Fist in My Back

Last weekend, as in 11 days ago, I woke up with a stiff, sore back. I took a couple of Advil, went to the chiropractor Monday morning and started to feel better. By Thursday, I was suffering again, unable to turn my head to the right, much less brush my hair, lift something heavy, or sleep comfortably. I went back to the chiro on Friday and felt better Friday night. Saturday morning was horrible, so I laid out on the living room floor on ice packs for the bulk of the day.

Sunday was still bad, mainly with twisting and raising my arms above my head to do anything. (Ask me the last time I washed my hair.) I went back to the chiro on Monday and by last night, I was moving around with only limited mobility and little pain. This morning is a different story. I just spent 30 minutes laying with a heating pad between my shoulder blades watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with the boys. It’s as if someone has grabbed my spine with their fist, twisted and won’t let go.

Part of the blame lies with the mattress. It’s 800 years old and mushy, but until that money tree blooms I won’t be buying that sought-after Beautyrest. Part of the blame lies with me. My regular workouts aren’t so regular as I’ve let stress and tension build up like weights in my shoulders.

The boys and I are traveling soon, so my brain is calculating (and re-calculating) what I need to pack, buy, replace, and have handy before I wind up on an airplane with two rowdy boys, a jacked back, and an empty bottle of Excedrin Back & Body.