So a couple of days ago, I’m doing a downward dog, and I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. I quickly gave up on that video and went to one that I knew wouldn’t have any downward dogs.
The next day, I’m once again doing downward dog and getting sharp pains in my shoulder. I fell to to floor in a heap and did the ugly cry for a while. Until I realized that I was getting all stopped up with snot which is never good for me or my COPD because all that snot drains down into my lungs and then I’m sick and really feeling sorry for myself more than I was when downward dog kicked my ass.
I got myself pulled together enough to text my BFF and scream into the void. That didn’t help as much as I had hoped so I texted my 12 step sponsor. That helped a little bit, but I still felt sorry for myself. So I did the only logical thing I knew to do.
I called my mom.
My mom has no patience for her kids when they feel sorry for themselves. My mom doesn’t allow herself to feel sorry for herself. It doesn’t do any good, she says.
Of course, being the amazing mom she is, she could hear the congestion (how the fuck can moms do that shit?) and so I had to explain to her that I had just spent a stupid amount of time wadded up in the floor crying because I hurt my shoulder doing downward dog.
Being the pragmatist that she is, my mom has always had one simple response to “it hurts when I ……………..”.
“Well then, don’t do ………………”.
So of course her advice was “don’t do any more downward dogs”.
We had a nice long chat, and by the end of it my mom had me laughing my ass off at how she dealt with her financial advisor when he sold the firm and said she needed to do a bunch of paperwork. My mom is no dummy; she told him she wanted everything to stay the same and she wasn’t filling out any more paperwork. Then she called the institution that actually holds her funds and they told her she didn’t have to do any paperwork.
My mom is one of those “steel magnolias”. All sweet, gracious, southern hospitality on the outside; core of solid steel (with a dose of raging mama bear) on the inside. So of course we were laughing at how men have always treated her like an idiot and it has always been a big mistake. Huge.
I’ve digressed. This is supposed to be about my shoulder, and here I am talking about how my mom taught me to question everything and never get taken for a fool. Sometimes, I’m so distrusting and cynical and intolerant of clutter that I’ve recently had to ask her “are you 100% positive that I’m not genetically yours?” She swears I’m adopted, but sometimes I wonder. I guess that’s just a testament to how much she loves me and how well she raised me.
Anyway, my shoulder. It’s the shoulder that was damaged in the 90s. The last xray I saw of it was fucking scary, but lately I had started to question my memories (because I did a lot of dope in the intervening years). Mr B, who was once a mortician, did a quick poke around my right clavicle that I know is fine, then a quick poke around the left and said I wasn’t imagining things, it didn’t feel normal. This latest pain is new and different and worse. It’s in the shoulder joint, and its sending pains down my biceps and triceratops and shit.
My doctor poked around the shoulder joint and miracle of miracles it actually did that popping and crunching thing and it disturbed her so she ordered an xray and now I have to figure out where we’re going to get the money to pay for xrays with no fucking insurance.
Sunshine says we’ll find a way to pay for it, and I love him for it. I hate having to throw something like this at him at a time like this, when we’re really scrambling to get the house finished so we can move in. He gets excellent (and completely free) healthcare from his tribal clinic, so he always comes up with the money for mine because I fall into the coverage gap (fucking asshole Texas not expanding the Medicare/Medicaid).
I’m not sure where I’m going with this post except screaming into the void. Its frustrating to have chronic pain standing in the way of actually following doctors orders to exercise; the fact that I’ve now added a new insult to an old injury is just making it that much worse.
Ultimately, I suppose the moral of the story is this: don’t be an idiot that doesn’t follow doctors orders after a major car wreck breaks your bones, because that shot will come back to bite you on the ass when its least convenient.
Final note: thank you for listening to my navel gazing and lint picking. XOXOXOXOXOXOXO