A Bad Back and a Fat Lip

I’m sitting here in my living room with a fat lip, working on my syllabus for the fall semester.  I have to take frequent breaks to lie flat on my back on the floor.  For some reason, no matter how well I plan or take care of myself, I seem to fall apart when faced with a big move.  Twice I got strep throat just before moving—once from New York and once from Austin.  Last summer I had a spate of panic attacks that exhausted me.  Perhaps transitions are not my forte.

On Sunday morning, having woken from a nice long sleep, I shuffled into the kitchen to make some tea.  I began to empty the dishwasher while waiting for the water to boil and, as I bent down to put away a bowl, the lower left part of my back seized up.  I could barely breathe, and I couldn’t stand up straight.  “Oh, shit,” I said, lowering myself onto my knees.  Alec recently pulled his abductor muscle, so we had already been helping fill our physical therapist, Iñaki’s, morning and afternoon slots.  C.C. walked into the kitchen at that moment and, after surveying the situation, proclaimed, “You guys are really falling apart!”

We were smack dab in the middle of the Big Packing Weekend, and I could not really afford to take to my bed (although, as history has proven, I’ve made it through many moves doing just that).

I took two extra strength Tylenols and, eventually, I was able to move some. Enough to put clothes in piles, and to direct Alec to lift this suitcase or that for me to fill.  I slept poorly—shooting pains every time I tried to roll over.  And when I tried not to move, my hip started hurting from being in the same position for so long!  Is this what getting old feels like?

I had to give a talk on my research at the university on Monday morning, and I managed to get there by taking subways with elevators, and the bus.  Even walking hurt.  I called Iñaki, who I was not scheduled to see that day.  Rose, his fabulous assistant and fierce gatekeeper, told me he was very busy but if I showed up he might be able to fit me in.  So I did, and of course he told me to change and get myself onto one of the tables that crowd the floor like a military ER in a combat zone—everyone in various stages of undress getting rubbed, iced, microwaved, or stimulated with electrical circuits. 

He worked without talking, going beyond the usual deep massage to manipulate my spine as a chiropractor would.  I left feeling a little better, and headed up to the office to give the paper we had finished on Friday one last read before sending it out.

Alec had invited his supervisor over for dinner.  When I surveyed the state of the apartment on Monday morning—piles of papers to sort, file and discard, half-packed suitcases, bathrooms in disarray—I started to worry.  “I can’t really bend over to pick anything up,” I told Alec.  “Do you have time to clean up AND cook?” 

“Don’t worry,” Alec said.  “He knows we’re in the middle of moving.”  Not exactly the response I had hoped for. 

“Why don’t you call Berta and see if she can come,” I suggested.  Fortunately she could.

Between courses I lay on the floor to rest my back—sitting is the worst, and is yet another reason why my blog posts have been few and far between.  Alec cooked a terrific Ampurdan rice with rabbit and mushrooms dish, along with squash blossoms filled with cheese and oregano.

I slept better on Monday night, and my back felt a little better in the morning.  I went back to Iñaki for the full treatment, and then came home to work on my syllabus.  After about an hour my mouth started feeling itchy.  Sure enough my lower left lip had begun to swell.  I get these allergic reactions very infrequently, but sometimes in clusters—I had them quite regularly about 3 years ago.  Either my lips swell—not an attractive look, or I get an itchy red patch on my stomach or hip.  For awhile I carried an epi pen around, just in case.  I haven’t had one in at least 18 months. 

So I took a Benadryl and decided to lie on my back and meditate on the theme of acceptance for my rickety, aging self, to appreciate my physical body instead of thinking the nasty thoughts I had been thinking about how it is letting me down.   And, of course, before I got very far with that plan, I fell fast asleep.  Benadryl really knocks me out. 

So here I sit, with a bad back a fat lip and, fortunately, a good sense of humor.