Can I Get a Refund, Please?

This poor blog. It has been ignored for years and before that, barely attended to. I went for long periods of time just posting Maxine Mondays, and nothing else. As much as I love Maxine, she isn't enough for anyone to return to, to continue reading a blog. 

Not sure what I am doing here now, since I know there is no readership. But I really have the urge to write lately. It only becomes a problem when you don't know what to write about, or for whom. 

So for now I think I will write for me. If no one reads it besides me, that's fine. An online diary? That's a little creepy to consider. But it will be whatever strikes me at the moment. 

And right now, that is how my body is letting me down. I have been walking for exercise. I've begun listening to music instead of audio books and it propels me to a faster walk and I don't mind going further. Farther? My grammar sucks. However, my knees are saying oh HELL NO. I am experiencing medial knee pain, I looked it up. Medial knee pain is pain on the inner aspect of the knee. Both of my knees hurt, not just one. It makes me sad.

Once upon a time in my early 40's (I think) I started walking, mostly to work off anxiety and upset about a relationship I was in at the time. And I walked as long as I needed to and as fast. No worries at all. I don't remember any pain other than ordinary tired muscles. 

But now, WTH??

Not going to stop. I enjoy the music, I enjoy fending off future health problems, walking is my form of exercise. Not going to let my stupid knees ruin it for me. So I've found some exercises to help strengthen my knees that I am doing. I have shortened the distance temporarily, and am very careful about how I walk. Got new shoes. But I'm just plain pissed off that now I have to accommodate my body instead of it just doing what I want it to. 

Who designed this thing, anyway? I am dissatisfied.

Ibuprophen is STILL my friend.

So it there anything I won’t write about? Yeah I’m sure there is – but I’m not telling.

Believe it or not the back pain from my yard work yesterday was a little bit better than I thought it would be today. Of course it helps that I took a handful of Ibuprophen almost before my feet hit the floor this morning.

But the back pain and arthritis pain in my hands was not enough. I had to do something to bring on more pain so I went to the doctor and let her stick a catheter into my uterus and fill it with saline. Like a water balloon. And then a guy named Dan (yes, another Dan) put slimy stuff on my belly and took pictures.

Let me assure you, fun was had by all. I was doing a one woman show about living with 4 cats and doing quite well when the doctor said “keep talking about the cats but you’ll feel a bit of pressure now, we’re filling you up.” Wait! I didn't ask for a full tank! That’s when I lost my train of thought and said “pressure? That’s pain not pressure! Ouch!!”

Thankfully it was over before I had a chance to think of something else funny to say and they didn’t find anything like polyps, spare keys or God forbid, another cat.

I was left with immediate cramps and ….. back pain (wouldn’t ya know) and a few extras which I imagine will last a few days. So what do you think? Can I find something painful to do tomorrow?

Ibuprophen is my friend.

I don’t have one of those electric or gas powered hedge trimmers and to be honest, I’m a little afraid of them. When I was in high school my mom was outside with the hedge trimmer while I, ever the selfish teenager, was in the house being self absorbed I’m sure.

Mom came in the house and went straight to the bathroom and something about it just didn’t sound right. When I checked it out – there was blood on the carpet. There was blood at the front door and on the porch. I went to the bathroom door and heard “go next door and get Kenny, tell him I need to go to the hospital!”

AGH-H-H-H!!!!! (that was me.)

I ran next door and told our neighbor that my mom had an accident with the hedge trimmer and needed to go to the hospital. Then I went out into the yard where the hedge trimmer was laying and …yeah … I looked for fingers. I had no idea if there were fingers out there but I was prepared to pick them up and put them in a baggie with ice.

Turned out that her little finger was broken and she needed a bunch of stitches, but all her fingers were attached. So you can see why I might be a little frightened of that particular landscaping tool.

Which is why I was outside today with the old fashioned kind of clippers hacking away at the bushes in front of the house. (spell check REALLY hates my grammar.) Part way through I realized that I had owned this pair of clippers for over 10 years and they’ve never been sharpened so you can imagine how easy they were to use. Heh. I had skipped doing the bushes last year so they had a lot of growth that needed to be cut off and a lot of shaping to be done.

Yard work, or any manual labor for that matter, is not my favorite thing. It would help I suppose if I did it every now and then so it wasn’t such a shock to my system when I finally do get my butt out there to get it done. But I don’t and it is.

It’s been 6 hours since I was out trimming the bushes. My arms feel like lead, my hands shake when I lift a drink to my mouth, and fine motor skills are non-existent due to the screaming arthritis pain in my thumbs right now. But the worst? My back. Oh.my.God.

Once I get the laundry folded and my lunch ready for work tomorrow, I am curling up in bed on my side with a pillow between my knees and praying it’s not worse tomorrow.

I’m pretending that’s actually a possibility or I might have nightmares.

I know you're going to understand this.

When I wrote about the fog and breaking my ankle I forgot to mention an important part. I mean, really important. Probably because I didn’t tell about what happened beyond calling for help.

Of course there was the ride to the hospital and trying to get someone’s attention in the emergency room. Standard stuff. There was the nurse peeling my sock off and exclaiming “oh my God!” Not good to hear from a medical professional. And then hearing “I can’t get a pulse down here…” that was scary too.

But laying on a gurney with people bustling around and hearing them say to me “okay, we’re going to need to cut off your jeans” brought on more reaction than the pain! "NO-O-O-0-0-0-0-0-0-0!!!"

I was wearing clean underwear, could not have cared less if my legs were shaved at that point, but those jeans? My favorite pair. My favorite pair of jeans that fit me and actually looked good on me, and they were telling me they were going to take a pair of scissors and cut them from waistband to hem.

I needed pain medication for that part more so than when they set the bones. Arg-g-h-h-h!!