I mean honestly, how do I go from "hmm, my back is bothering me, I must be sitting too much, let me get a little more active this weekend" to "oh wow, I can't get out of bed without crawling"? Should there not be some sort of in-between step there? Like a warning light that comes on right before my back gives out? Some sort of computer voice doing a countdown to a chiropractor visit?
And "getting active" did not exactly mean running a 5K. Which trust me I will never in my life be doing. I picked up some plants at a plant farm, and then went to BJ's. Granted pushing a cart around at BJ's probably qualifies as resistance training for football players. But I'd done it before with no problem, until now. So much for stocking up on cereal and roasted almonds.
So I went to the doctor, started physical therapy and went back to the chiropractor. The doctor (naturally) gave me medication. The physical therapy facility has way better heating pads than I do, and they're all nice, and they have me do particular exercises to stretch out the areas that need stretching. The chiropractor did not approve of my doing gardening without a back brace, and so now I own one. A back brace. It attaches with Velcro. Perhaps I can get a walker for the next breakdown and then have the complete "I'm an Old Fart!" set.
Next I'll be eating dinner at 4 p.m. daily and complaining loudly about kids today.
(Side note: While DH and I lived in Florida, we for whatever reason opted for an early dinner at a restaurant -- and were the youngest people in it by about 40 years. I make early bird special jokes because they're true.)
I am starting to feel more normalish again this week, although I'm still in physical therapy. I also switched out my purse, since according to Oprah, certain types of bags are better for the back than others. If Oprah says so, it must be true. Thankfully I don't have to carry the children around anymore, as much as they would like me to do so. Still it's aggravating to have to shut down horseplaying and overenthusiastic hugging with, "Not now, sweetie, Mommy's back hurts."
Stupid back.
I was so sidelined by this that I almost didn't get to send out the letter I wrote to kiddo's new teacher, explaining who he is, what he has and what techniques work with him. I got it in the mail today. (No, school hasn't started yet here. Yes, we do start late. I agree, it is strange.) I'm hoping the letter does something -- anything? -- but we won't know until after school starts, I guess.
I also sincerely hope kiddo wasn't meant to have finished that entire summer typing program before September, because that is not happening. Mainly because he thinks practice-typing the same two letters over and over is torture. (I can see his point.) Speaking as someone who types for a living, and has worked with lots of other people who type for a living, I'm pretty sure hunt-and-peck is the preferred method anyway.
He has been typing, though. So, credit for that.
I got all his school supplies before my back gave out, so we're set there. We just need to pick out a first-day outfit, and show him his room, and hope he doesn't get overstimulated or oppositional or otherwise act out. A normal first day of school for us, in other words.
In the meantime, my old-fart back and I will continue the healing process.
And "getting active" did not exactly mean running a 5K. Which trust me I will never in my life be doing. I picked up some plants at a plant farm, and then went to BJ's. Granted pushing a cart around at BJ's probably qualifies as resistance training for football players. But I'd done it before with no problem, until now. So much for stocking up on cereal and roasted almonds.
So I went to the doctor, started physical therapy and went back to the chiropractor. The doctor (naturally) gave me medication. The physical therapy facility has way better heating pads than I do, and they're all nice, and they have me do particular exercises to stretch out the areas that need stretching. The chiropractor did not approve of my doing gardening without a back brace, and so now I own one. A back brace. It attaches with Velcro. Perhaps I can get a walker for the next breakdown and then have the complete "I'm an Old Fart!" set.
Next I'll be eating dinner at 4 p.m. daily and complaining loudly about kids today.
(Side note: While DH and I lived in Florida, we for whatever reason opted for an early dinner at a restaurant -- and were the youngest people in it by about 40 years. I make early bird special jokes because they're true.)
I am starting to feel more normalish again this week, although I'm still in physical therapy. I also switched out my purse, since according to Oprah, certain types of bags are better for the back than others. If Oprah says so, it must be true. Thankfully I don't have to carry the children around anymore, as much as they would like me to do so. Still it's aggravating to have to shut down horseplaying and overenthusiastic hugging with, "Not now, sweetie, Mommy's back hurts."
Stupid back.
I was so sidelined by this that I almost didn't get to send out the letter I wrote to kiddo's new teacher, explaining who he is, what he has and what techniques work with him. I got it in the mail today. (No, school hasn't started yet here. Yes, we do start late. I agree, it is strange.) I'm hoping the letter does something -- anything? -- but we won't know until after school starts, I guess.
I also sincerely hope kiddo wasn't meant to have finished that entire summer typing program before September, because that is not happening. Mainly because he thinks practice-typing the same two letters over and over is torture. (I can see his point.) Speaking as someone who types for a living, and has worked with lots of other people who type for a living, I'm pretty sure hunt-and-peck is the preferred method anyway.
He has been typing, though. So, credit for that.
I got all his school supplies before my back gave out, so we're set there. We just need to pick out a first-day outfit, and show him his room, and hope he doesn't get overstimulated or oppositional or otherwise act out. A normal first day of school for us, in other words.
In the meantime, my old-fart back and I will continue the healing process.
When I was at the pediatrician last week the new dr thought I was the boys grandma. ROCK ON.
ReplyDeleteHahaha we are old! Go us with our creaky selves!
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