Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The Beached Whale

6 sudoku puzzles, 2 episodes of Drop Dead Diva, a handful (or 5) of Doritos and a Cherry Coke Zero = less bat crazy than before. If you read my last blog you understand, if not disregard and read below or things that make more sense (or go read my last blog!!!!!!)

Now I can write the blog I've been meaning to write for the last week. It's all about my butt, color you intrigued right?

A week and a half ago we went to another Saturday night skate night. There were a lot of people there that we know, mostly in the close enough to make my butt story awkward category. I'm sure you know the type. With a few exceptions I'm hoping I can craftily avoid them for at least the next 6 months.

We got out onto the rink and my little Moe was ready to try skating on his own. I didnt love that idea but I did hand him off to my dear husband and with the exhilaration that comes from being untethered I began skating faster, enjoying the freedom of movement and the rush that exercise gives.

Side note: my version of faster is most peoples version of slower.

Just as I was in front of the viewing area, I rolled over some bump, or crack or something that made me lose my balance. So, instead of doing anything to help myself... I fell, HARD, on my butt. It instantly felt like someone had slapped an upper body cast on me, my back was locked up and I couldn't seem to catch a breath. Several people skated by and said, "are you okay?" I nodded and gasped out "fine" inaudibly. One extra helpful teenage boy skated past slowly pointing out ever so kindly that I should probably try rollerblades like his since they are a lot easier than my skates. My husbands good friend came skating by and I gasped at him to please help so he stopped and I said i couldn't catch my breath. He wouldn't let me get up. Then my husband made his way over and he wouldn't let me get up either. They made me sit with my arms out like I was pretending I could fly or carry a crucifix until I could speak a whole sentence. Then my husband helped me off the rink and over to the bleachers.

I tried to shake it off and not cry in front of everyone. It took every bit of effort that I had to not throw an all out bawling fit and I wasted any energy I still had holding back my ears and gulping down my sobs. I got my skates off and tried to walk around the rink with Moe but it was getting harder and harder to move. I tried sitting back down but then it was harder to breathe. I am not sure I ever felt this level of discomfort before and I have given birht to 3 children and had 3rd degree burns. But I also have a fuzzy memory so you be the judge. My husband came to check on me and I insisted that I could wait it out while they finished skating. He didnt believe me and insisted that we leave. I quickly agreed and had Mekana walk me to the car.

On our way out this lady that I know from church and my neighborhood and that I idolize a little was walking the same way and commented "so much for the new skates." I did a meek smile and couldn't even manage words. Mortification set in and as soon as we passed her i just let loose and cried and gasped and moaned and generally sounded like I was being murdered in a public park. Pretty sure I managed to terrify poor Mekana.

We got home and I was insistent that if I took some ibuprofen and laid down I might be fine. I don't really get sick or hurt, like ever, so I really have no gauge on what feels okay and what is not okay. My back was still locked up so I fell onto my bed face first since I couldn't bend at all. At this point my husband decided we were going to the ER and called his best friend to take our kids for the night. Thank you God for best friends!!

So at 8pm we loaded everyone up in the car, dropped the kids off and headed towards the hospital. On the way we saw a fire on the side of the road and had to stop and call 911 to report it. The irony of going to the "emergency" room but stopping to report a more important "emergency" was not lost on me. I took a picture with my phone. We got there and spent the next 3 hours going over the fact that I was not pregnant (this is important for xrays) at least 10 times and spending a lot of time sitting in a holding area listening to the man in the next area swear, cry and answer questions about what drugs he had taken and why he chose to defecate on himself. I was taken for a set of xrays and sent home with Vicodin, heavy duty ibuprofen and the pronouncement that I had bruised my tailbone and was having back spasms. Yep, all that drama and embarrassment for a bruised tailbone. My husband keeps telling everyone that I got a giant crack in my butt. He thinks its funny every time, I think he should leave out the giant part.

Since then I have spent the last week almost completely unable to move. It hurts to sit, it hurts to lay down and it hurts to walk. I have managed a few things like a movie where I readjusted my donut butt pillow so many times that I am sure the friend next to me (who didn't know I was hurt or had a donut pillow) was sure that I dig for treasure down there. I skipped my afternoon vicodin dose (I've never had vicodin before, the fuzzy feeling is good, the constipation is bad) so that I could safely drive to sports camp to pick up my children each day. I cried the whole way there/made my sister drive me several of the days and then took my kids to the public pool after so I could float in the water and not hurt for a bit while they exhausted themselves swimming and diving. I bought a dress for a wedding and went to a wedding, I was never so thankful to know so few people, it made things MUCH less awkward. When I tried on the dress and explained to my husband how great I was going to look at the wedding he smiled and agreed and then did an impression of a penguin (or apparently me walking like I have a stick up my butt) and said, "except for that."

I am telling you all of this so you'll feel sorry for me.

No that's not it. It's so you'll know what a huge baby I am.

Nope, that's not it either. It's so you'll wonder if I do really have treasure down there.

Wrong again. Its really just to explain to you a few things.

1. My house smells weird and is really trashed, this happens when you spend 3/4's of the day in your room and let kids be kids. Kids smell weird too.

2. If I was short with you, forgot to smile, or you were wondering why it looked like I was passing gas every time you saw me last week, its not you, its me. Any interactions I had were short, pain filled and my mind was elsewhere (trying not to say curse words or faint mostly)

3. My husband is awesome. Aside from the butt crack and penguin jokes (which my kids assure me I do in fact look like)he got up early every day last week and did the "morning routine" with the kids. He will never again condescendingly try to "fix things" in the mornings when I am yelling. He now understands why that happens.

I don't think he ever wants to do "morning routines" again. Neither do I. Can we hire someone?

He didn't cook meals but he bought them and ran errands and just generally made it okay for me to lay around moaning like the beached whale that I was. He made me take my medicine and made my boys be extra nice to me. And all this while he was dealing with a week of wedding craziness as a groomsmen in his other best friends (as in not the best friend that took our kids when I went to the ER) wedding.

I went for a follow up towards the end of the week and the doctor confirmed that I was still bruised and that it would take a few weeks to get better. I left with a fresh does of embarrassment and a promise of muscle relaxers if I couldn't handle the pain. I am attempting to go completely drug free today to see where the pain levels are at. Im happy to report that so far its not as bad as I thought. When I move its like a woodpecker is stabbing me with his beak and when I sit its like someone is pulling my rear apart with a vice. So, not so bad. Add to that the mortifying number that I saw on the dr. office weight scale and I am currently the most motivated that I have ever been to exercise 18 hours a day while at the same time being physically incapable of doing so.

And thats the news for now. Tune in for my next blog on the things I've taught my sons so far this summer, you'll want to take notes on my awesomeness.

1 comment:

  1. tailbones take a long time to heal, I've had mine bruised several times & broken once(still that way} much consolation, and exortation to keep on truckin( of course if you had feet the size of the poster you wouldn't have fallen!) Good luck, hope the spasms stop soon