5:25am - Alarm clock, set to this channel, sort of wakes me. At least enough to smack the snooze button.
5:35am - The Husband gets out of bed, shuts off my alarm clock and drags the warm blankie and comforter down to my knees. While he dresses, I practice the art of stringing together as many curses as possible in response to the sudden frigid atmosphere and the insane stiffness in my back.
5:40am to 6:20am - Wishing desperately I still consume caffeine in any form. A cup of coffee...a full-calorie, full-caffeine cola, but no. That's one New Year's Resolution that stuck. So I try to stretch my back...carefully. I've dislocated ribs (more on the right than the left) from stretching the muscles too far too soon. I've been told the pain is similar to breaking a rib. I don't doubt it.
6:20am - Drag, cajole, threaten death to get the children out of their beds.
6:23am to 7:10am - All hell breaks loose. Sort of. Those 47 minutes are a noisy, chaotic blur of activity. Showering occurs for those who don't shower at night, food is consumed, etc.
7:10am-ish - The Artist and Blondie leave for the high school, a mere two blocks away.
7:10am-ish to 7:50am - Backpack checks, because 10 year olds are notoriously forgetful. Last minute quiz/test prep, etc. for Miss Sunshine and Curly Girl. Maybe even a snuggle or two, because while they are 10, they are still my babies, dammit. Oh, and I check my email. Maybe. At least once a week.
7:50am - Drive the twins to school, where they are members of the safety patrol and are therefore required to arrive 30 minutes before the bell. Miss Sunshine has THE coveted position of working in the office in the mornings and the misfortune of trying and failing to keep parents from walking on the landscaping in the afternoons. Curly Girl guards the crossing directly across from the school, in conjunction with a real crossing guard. Poor kid spent the first week panicked, thinking she would send some kid across the street and right in front of a car. Heh. Like the senior citizen crossing guard would let that happen. Anyways, they are also responsible for putting the flag up every am and taking it down every pm. They are the two smallest fifth graders. The flag is longer than they are tall. Took them 3 weeks to figure out how to handle it without it touching the ground and to fold it. Now, when they help me fold clean towels, I get stacks of triangles.
7:55am to 8:45am - Stare at my 'Crap I Hope I Can Do Today List'. On a good day, I'll start a load of laundry. On a bad day, well, I start a load of laundry. No laundry fairy living in my house.
Then I grab my mp3 player and scroll to my pre-Physical Therapy visit playlist...songs like Disturbia by Rihanna and If I Never See Your Face Again by Maroon 5...funky, upbeat stuff. Because I am so going to need it.
8:45am - Leave for PT. That is, if the dense receptionist hasn't given away my long-standing 9am time slot again.
9am to 10:45am-ish - TORTURE. Ok, not right away. First I start with 15 minutes on the exercise bike busting my ass on a hard interval training program. I actually enjoy that. Sick, aren't I? Then I move to the 8 or 9 core (back, abs, pelvic) strengthening exercises. Joy. They HURT. Then it's ultrasound on the sacral back for the pelvis, stim and heat on the lumbar back to try to relax my eternally spasming muscles and finally deep tissue massage. That's the torture. Who'd have thunk that something that hurts so damn bad can feel so damn good?? Anyways, when Chaz is done killing me, it's pep talk time. Nearly 8 months of chronic severe pain has a tendency to make one just a wee bit depressed. Chaz understands. He pushes me, reminds me that perseverance* is the key to my future. (*More on that another time.)
11:00am - Rest. That's an order, and a necessity. So I read (OMG...have you ever read Lora Leigh? If you like your fiction with a serious sizzle, she is the author for you!). Or maybe I work a Sudoku, or stare at the wall and think about all of the things I fricking can't do anymore. But, I digress.
Noon-ish - Eat something high protein. Seriously, since mid-October, I've lost 6 pounds by remembering that protein is my friend and carbs are the devil. And around that time I contemplate taking something for the pain. You see, I hate feeling woozy/loopy/foggy/high. Hate. It. So I tolerate pain to the point that I'm about ready to curl into a weepy ball. Which usually means I take nothing until the evening. But if I had to, I have a few choices...Oxycontin? I have some of that. Dilaudid? Got that too...hell, that's my pain reliever of choice. Vicodin? Pffft. Norco 10 (stronger Vicodin)? Ehhh...not bad for 'break-thru' pain. But if you add some Klonopin, which is an anti-convulsant sometimes used for muscle spasms that don't respond to muscle relaxers...ahem, mine...to the Dilaudid, voila! Some pain relief! Note the use of the word "some." I have never, ever had one single second of zero pain since March 9th. But when your pain level hovers between a 7 and a 9, anything around a 4 or 5 is freaking heaven.
Where was I?
1:00pm-ish - Time to get busy. Get the laundry in the dryer, run any errands, make phone calls, pay bills - all the things that keep the machine running. Sometimes, when there's nothing to do, and I feel up to it, I'll meet my mom for lunch, or shopping, or hunker down to see if I can't get a little more of my latest painting finished.
3:00pm-ish - The eldest arrive home...The Artist without The Wrestler, who will be attending Michigan State on an athletic scholarship next fall and is busy prepping for the season. And Blondie, if not with SkaterBoy, her boyfriend du jour, then with one of the half dozen other boys vying for her attention. I give the usual speeches - clean your rooms, do your homework, blah, blah.
3:37pm - Leave to pick up Miss Sunshine and Curly Girl.
3:47pm - Back home, start dinner while signing student planners, looking through school papers and assisting with long division. I forgot how much I hate long division.
4:15pm-ish - The Gorilla arrives home. Maybe. If so, we pow wow, so he knows what to expect. Guy's kinda busy anymore, doing his thing, doing my things because I can't.
5:00pm-ish - Dinner. It's loud, occasionally lacking proper manners, full of laughter, and absolutely perfect.
6:00pm-ish to curfews - Dishes loaded, pans washed, table wiped, homework finished...the girls scatter. Some need rides. Others get rides...that makes you nervous. One wants to drive, finally. I'm making her wait until spring for driver's ed. I've had her drive my Caravan a dozen or so times. It was not pretty. The grass still hasn't grown back on that 4 foot section of the neighbor's lawn.
7:00pm-ish - Round 2 for me of exercises and interval program on my bike. On a bad day, I ride 10 miles (5 in the am and 5 in the pm). That's pretty damn good...
8:00pm to 10:00pm-ish - I finally break down and take something for the pain. Several somethings. The moment they kick in I hop in the shower, and then sprawl on the bed so I can get some stim from my home machine and some more heat. That's when I break down and turn on the TV. I generally don't watch it. Rather read.
10:00pm - Spouse time. Reconnect, reconnoiter, you get the drift. IF the pain meds have dropped the pain down below a 5, he gets the signal that frisky notions may be entertained at bedtime...which he tries to push up to 10:03, rather than 11:00. I swear, the man thinks Chaz is a god...Chaz is the one who poo poo'd the whole 'people with back injuries don't have sex' thing. With the right positions, a different attitude and expectations, and a few strategically placed pillows or rolls of towels, sex is just fine, thanks. And let's be honest here...chronic pain has a way of damaging even the most solid of marriages. So while sex has changed, it's an even more vital connection for us. Oh. No pun intended. Sorry.
11:00pm - Bedtime. If there's no hanky panky planned, sleep comes quick and hard. Meds. Gotta love them. Especially after 5 months of not sleeping.
So that's a typical day. Fun, huh??
Emergency Preparedness 101
7 years ago
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