Spinal Drama

A few weeks ago, my brother sweetly asked me if I remembered that blog that I used to post on once a month or so. Ha! Of course, I remember. I think about it often. Sometimes I even sit down with intentions of writing something, but then usually I decide to have a snack instead.

Recently, however, I’ve had some health complications, and so I am turning to writing for therapeutic purposes.

You see, on April 4th, a sunny Wednesday morning in our nation’s capital, I woke up with such a terrible literal pain in the ass. It took about a half hour of self butt massage before I could get out of bed. I toughed it out at work the rest of that week, but by Friday, I was really hurting. I am normally hesitant about turning to drugs for pain relief, but I wouldn’t have made it through Easter weekend without prescription muscle relaxers and opiates. Pot probably would have done the trick, but alas, we live in a time and a place where the more habit-forming substances are legal.

To make a long story short (should I? this really is my favorite thing to talk about), after putting me through weeks of physical therapy based upon the wrong diagnosis and only after I basically crawled into his office, my doctor ordered an MRI, through which it was discovered that I have a bulging disk (or disc, pick your poison – there is no consistent spelling). Rather than cataloging the shortcomings of this doctor, I will tell you to just picture the doctor from 30 Rock.

A bulging disk! At my age! But I’m so active and healthy!

It felt like an indictment of how I’ve been living my life. It seemed like this was the universe, or maybe just my body, saying “Ha! This is what you get for turning into a curmudgeon at such a young age.”

Now even if there is any truth to such thoughts, self-blame has no place in the healing process. And so I am trying to be nicer to myself, but really what has helped the most in combating the self-blame is knowing that this same thing has happened to such outstanding, healthy, and happy individuals as my little brother, my roommate, and my yoga teacher. In fact, my little brother and I currently have the exact same disks annoyingly pressing on the exact same nerves! It’s just like when we used to wear color-coordinated outfits.

Cat says something positive will come from this experience. It’s too soon to say if she’s right. I mean, I know she is, she always is, I just can’t see it yet. I suppose there have been a few good things that have come of this so far:

 -I’ve stopped drinking coffee. With all the drugs I’m taking, I figured I would give my body a break by eliminating one toxin as I introduce so many others.

-Maybe this experience will make me less of an asshole. I have been quite healthy most of my life, and I take most of the credit for that, which means that when people are sick or in pain, part of me wonders what they’re doing wrong. Now I realize that it’s all a crapshoot (mostly), and I will try to just be thankful for what I have, while working on being more compassionate.

-Maybe this experience will make me ok with being a little bit of an asshole. For example, I ordered groceries online and have been taking cabs everywhere. I would go crazy stuck at home with only a box of crackers unless I afford myself these little indulgences. (Maybe not so little – I had to ask the grocery delivery driver to bring the groceries to second floor while his truck held up traffic on Q Street, not to mention the fuel.)

-Pain meds = fantastic dreams. One night I played pool with Pete Campbell from Mad Men at Downton Abbey while childhood friends made cameo appearances. Another night, I sang Pearl Jams’ greatest hits with Eddie Vedder on a rooftop. Last night was all about almond-filled croissants.

-It has become much easier for me to impress myself. A couple weeks ago, I dazzled myself by taking a shower and putting real pants on. Last Wednesday, I walked to work, and I arrived feeling like the champion of the universe. And my proudest moment yet: in bed this morning, I rolled over onto my stomach and was able to arch my back enough to prop myself up on my elbows. Then I did the formerly unthinkable thing and got out of bed without taking Percocet.

I know things will continue to progress and normal life will resume. Hopefully this disk bulge won’t be something that will recur. My roommate has been a great coach and mentor and has been in disk bulge remission for five years. My yoga teacher told me that when I return to yoga, I will be starting at the beginning. As discouraging as that was to hear (she suggested a private session to work on tadasana and sitting in a chair!), it was a reality check, and perhaps being forced to go back to the fundamentals of yoga will be the positive thing to which Cat was referring.

In the meantime, protect your back and keep your eyes out for my “It Gets Better (for disk bulge sufferers)” series.

Menstrual dishware

I adore my roommate, a 30 year-old male who counts the below mug among his earthly possessions. I had the pleasure of explaining to him what a real diva cup is.

No botulism!

Remember those tomatoes I canned? Well, I finally had the courage to open up one of the jars and use the contents. Smelled like summer in there. I made lasagna. Good, not great, the recipe is not worth sharing.

Trick to avoid holiday weight gain

Get the flu and vomit endlessly. Merry Christmas!

Thanks, legs!

And thank you dear friends who have ridden any part of these miles with me!

Memoirs - Ugh

I just came across this funny thing that I wrote a year ago:

I am so sick of hearing about memoirs. The worst to me are the ones about motherhood. Maybe if/when I am a mother, I will be more interested in them, but at that point if I do have the time to read I most certainly won’t want to read about someone else’s adventures in calamity.

For example (and these are not too far of a stretch from what is actually available on bookshelves):

My year as an over-educated, under-experienced occasional vegetarian who tries not to smoke too much and who feels a twinge of guilt every time I put something in the trash

My year of yoga every day regardless of the great inconvenience to my girlfriend who had to drive me because of my DUI

Adventures in motherhood: the story of a woman who decided to procreate with her husband after they bought a house, a Volvo, and a dog

My year of following the Old Testament literally [2011 note: I think a few of these sorts of memoirs have actually come out since I wrote this last year.]

A year of Macy’s instead of Nordstrom

The Skins Do Pop Off

Cool band name, eh? I'll be in charge of the tambourine and the outfits. Now, can you folks out there write the songs, sing, and play the other instruments? Then we can quit our jobs and hit the road.

The band name comes from a process currently taking place in my apartment. I'm canning 25 lbs of tomatoes. That's right -- my urban homesteading fantasies are becoming reality, at least for tonight.

Pics below. Special thanks to Zoe for the inspiration, motivation, and instruction. Thanks also to roommate David who is about to come home to an apartment sprinkled with tomato parts and juice, without whose pots and utensils my evening of canning would not have been possible. Also thanks to neighbor Karen who lent me canning pot, jar lifter tool, and mason jar book with nicely illustrated instructions.

I wish I could go back in time and have some words with the tortured law student version of myself. The words would be both gentle and firm. I used to spend hours lamenting that I didn't have time to cultivate my modern homestead. Sometimes we have to be patient. We can't have everything all at once. But things do slowly fall into place. I have 8 quarts of canned tomatoes to prove it.

Before the party started

The skins do pop off

Jars in water

Finito! Good night!