Fifty.
50.
Oh, GOD.
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| I know, right?!! |
Anyway, all these mysterious aches and pains keep creeping up on me and I spend a lot of time gimping around complaining.
(And getting zero sympathy from Dan.)
We have conversations that go like this:
Me: *hobbling around like I'm 100 years old*
Dan: *looking annoyed* "What's wrong with you?"
Me: "My back is killing me..."
Dan: *taking it personally* "Again?"
(Remember the time he stayed home from work because he was sore from playing baseball? Exactly.)
(And getting zero sympathy from Dan.)
We have conversations that go like this:
Me: *hobbling around like I'm 100 years old*
Dan: *looking annoyed* "What's wrong with you?"
Me: "My back is killing me..."
Dan: *taking it personally* "Again?"
(Remember the time he stayed home from work because he was sore from playing baseball? Exactly.)
After a few days of cataloging all of my grievances, I check WebMD and determine that I am, indeed, dying.
Then it goes away and is replaced by a different pain.
It's like my body can't decide how most effectively to kill me.
Meanwhile, last week, as you all know, I had an epic fall on the ice. (If you missed it, you can catch up on my most recent bout of humiliation here. Or not... no pressure.)
I was battered and bruised and in so much pain that I contemplated riding a Fatty Scooter through Walmart when I did my grocery shopping. (I didn't. The thought was fleeting and tempered with the fear that I would probably be the first person ever to crash into a shelf and be buried under falling cases of toilet paper or feminine hygiene products or with my luck, Preparation H, at which time I would die and eventually appear on Curious & Unusual Deaths, and my family would have to enter the Witness Protection Program and have their names changed, because of the shame brought upon their name by my fat and reckless clumsiness. And hemorrhoids.)
Eventually, the pain dissipated, and even though my bruises have remained colorful and I spend what is most likely wayyyyy too much time checking out the blossoming hematoma on my hip (I'm waiting for a blood clot to break loose and enter my brain, killing me rapidly, most likely while I'm on the toilet) I have managed to recover relatively unscathed.
Until this morning.
God only know what I did during the 20 minutes of sleep I got last night, but it was apparently a doozy.
I woke up at 4:30-ish and decided to get up to pee. (I always get up to pee. If I wake up, I get up and pee. I figure as long as I'm awake, right? No? Just me? Really? Hmmm.) I pushed Maisy and Javi out of the way, laid a pillow over Dan's face to muffle his snoring, swung my legs over the side of the bed and nearly passed out from the pain.
What.
The FUCK.
It literally felt like someone was stabbing me in the left buttcheek with an icepick.
The pain radiated down my leg AND up my back.
I gasped and clutched at my hip, trying to stand up.
Oh god... OH GOD...
I suddenly knew what it was.
Sciatica. THE HEART BREAK OF SCIATICA. (Or is it psoriasis that's heartbreaking? I don't remember.)
Owwwwww.
OWWWWWWWW.
I had my first experience with sciatica last year, during which time I came to the intelligent conclusion that I had a rare case of buttcheek cancer. The pain was excruciating. When I eventually dragged my sorry ass to the doctor (literally), I already had my Living Will in place and was ready to call the family together to say my final good-byes, in what would be an Academy Award winning deathbed scene.
Dear Sarah Bernhardt,
I laugh in the face of your famous death bed scenes.
Ha haaa!
Let me show you how it's done.
Love,
Dani
When the doctor assured me it was sciatica and not a tumor, I was somewhat relieved. Until she told me it was probably going to recur randomly.
Son of a BITCH.
Of COURSE when I get something terminal, it's something that won't kill me. It'll just make me miserable FOR THE REST OF MY WHAT I'M SURE WILL BE AN EXTREMELY LONG AND AGONIZING LIFE.
Thank you, Karma!! THANK YOU!
(Yes, I realize I'm bitching because sciatica won't kill me. Don't expect me to make sense, mmkay? My blog, my way.)
SO.
As I sit here in agony (which I am... this shit hurts) I decided to look for the goddamn silver lining.
In my head I'm thinking "Fuck la doublure d'argent!"
(That's French for "fuck the silver lining!" I wrote it in French because I wanted to say "Pardon my French" and actually have it be French.)
But a little ray of sunshine I am, so here are the things I am thankful for:
I am horribly thankful that none of these people are me.
It's the little things, really.
I was battered and bruised and in so much pain that I contemplated riding a Fatty Scooter through Walmart when I did my grocery shopping. (I didn't. The thought was fleeting and tempered with the fear that I would probably be the first person ever to crash into a shelf and be buried under falling cases of toilet paper or feminine hygiene products or with my luck, Preparation H, at which time I would die and eventually appear on Curious & Unusual Deaths, and my family would have to enter the Witness Protection Program and have their names changed, because of the shame brought upon their name by my fat and reckless clumsiness. And hemorrhoids.)
Eventually, the pain dissipated, and even though my bruises have remained colorful and I spend what is most likely wayyyyy too much time checking out the blossoming hematoma on my hip (I'm waiting for a blood clot to break loose and enter my brain, killing me rapidly, most likely while I'm on the toilet) I have managed to recover relatively unscathed.
Until this morning.
God only know what I did during the 20 minutes of sleep I got last night, but it was apparently a doozy.
I woke up at 4:30-ish and decided to get up to pee. (I always get up to pee. If I wake up, I get up and pee. I figure as long as I'm awake, right? No? Just me? Really? Hmmm.) I pushed Maisy and Javi out of the way, laid a pillow over Dan's face to muffle his snoring, swung my legs over the side of the bed and nearly passed out from the pain.
What.
The FUCK.
It literally felt like someone was stabbing me in the left buttcheek with an icepick.
The pain radiated down my leg AND up my back.
I gasped and clutched at my hip, trying to stand up.
Oh god... OH GOD...
I suddenly knew what it was.
Sciatica. THE HEART BREAK OF SCIATICA. (Or is it psoriasis that's heartbreaking? I don't remember.)
Owwwwww.
OWWWWWWWW.
I had my first experience with sciatica last year, during which time I came to the intelligent conclusion that I had a rare case of buttcheek cancer. The pain was excruciating. When I eventually dragged my sorry ass to the doctor (literally), I already had my Living Will in place and was ready to call the family together to say my final good-byes, in what would be an Academy Award winning deathbed scene.
Dear Sarah Bernhardt,
I laugh in the face of your famous death bed scenes.
Ha haaa!
Let me show you how it's done.
Love,
Dani
When the doctor assured me it was sciatica and not a tumor, I was somewhat relieved. Until she told me it was probably going to recur randomly.
Son of a BITCH.
Of COURSE when I get something terminal, it's something that won't kill me. It'll just make me miserable FOR THE REST OF MY WHAT I'M SURE WILL BE AN EXTREMELY LONG AND AGONIZING LIFE.
Thank you, Karma!! THANK YOU!
(Yes, I realize I'm bitching because sciatica won't kill me. Don't expect me to make sense, mmkay? My blog, my way.)
SO.
As I sit here in agony (which I am... this shit hurts) I decided to look for the goddamn silver lining.
In my head I'm thinking "Fuck la doublure d'argent!"
(That's French for "fuck the silver lining!" I wrote it in French because I wanted to say "Pardon my French" and actually have it be French.)
But a little ray of sunshine I am, so here are the things I am thankful for:
I am horribly thankful that none of these people are me.
 |
| Is this a dude? I can't decide. |
It's the little things, really.
I was all laughing...sympathetic with you because sleeping with my 6 year old has caused me to have massive neck pain....until I say the pictures. That is when I ruined my beauitful work outfit my splurting coffee all over myself! Warn a bitch next time!
ReplyDeletePS - I heard that cotton balls soaked in salt water help the bruising.
Oh, please. Is this your first visit? ALWAYS expect those type of fucked up and disturbing pics on here. This is Dani we are talking about here. Be prepared and ever vigilent with all liquids whilst reading her blog. You have been forewarned!
DeleteWhat Misty said...
DeleteMy google history will spontaneously combust upon my death. No one shall know the deep and dark realms of the internet I troll just to bring you this joy.
It is written.
The Buddhists say that you start over from 50. So really you're having your first birthday! So much more to learn you have!
ReplyDeleteDoes this mean my Karma is completely erased and starts over, too?
DeleteBecause THAT I will totally be on board with.
Hhahahah sorry about the pain! I'm 24 and I've been having back pain lately. I knew I was a little old lady at heart.
ReplyDeleteYou can come hang with me at the Sunshine Home For Evil Old Ladies, where I plan on spending my golden years getting drunk, dying my hair outrageous colors, wearing completely inappropriate clothes (I have my eye on a leopard print catsuit that I plan on wearing in my 80s) and hitting on hot young orderlies.
DeleteYou have big boobies. Back pain in some form or another was inevitable.
ReplyDeleteI can give you some pointers on how to stretch and calm your sciatic nerve, but some of them hurt quite a bit, if only temporarily, and you have to be willing to spend at least 10 minutes a day on them.
PLEASE DO.
DeleteI make light but dude, I'm in agony.
And I paid good money for these boobies, dammit.
Damn girl. You are falling apart! I spent most of yesterday having my hubs remiond me in various ways how old I am now. I am a mere 37 as of yesterday, but he felt he needed to remind me all damn day. I was having these mystery pains when I would get off the couch for a while, either in my back or leg. Maybe I have this thing you speak of. I will of course ignore it until it either goes away or I perish. It is my way.
ReplyDeleteHappy belated birthday, my love!!! How did I miss the announcement???
DeleteAbsolutely ignore the aches and pains.
Tis my way, as well.
If I'm dying, I'm pretty sure I'd rather be surprised by it. Ya know? I'll be all, "Wait... I'm dead? Huh... so the expanding size of my ass WAS a tumor!! I KNEW IT!!"
Oh pleeeeeease let me hang out with y'all at the Sunshine House for Evil Old Ladies.....I will do ANYTHING.
ReplyDeleteI laughed until I snorted at this post, and stopped abruptly when I got the the pics at the bottom. As always, you make me crazy-happy and then eeeewwwww.
BUT... did I also make you horribly thankful that none of those people are YOU???
DeleteSilver lining, my love... silver lining.
And I'll save you a spot at The Home.
I pee every time I wake up too, for the same reason...I'm up. My husband finds it annoying, but he's like a camel so whatever.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry to hear you aren't feeling 100%!!
Dan is a camel too... he doesn't pee before he goes to bed, never gets up to pee at night, doesn't feel obligated to pee before getting in the car or every time he stops for gas...
DeleteI don't get it.
Hi, my name is Dani. I pee a lot.
Yeah, I'm a nighttime pee-er too. Wake up, get up and pee. Wake up, get up and pee. There's always some there, isn't there. Beats the hell out of the frantic dash to the loo in the morning with a bladder that hasn't been emptied all night long. I think it's an old lady thing. No one at the Sunshine House will mock you.
ReplyDeleteIf you think you have a lot of aches and pains now, wait until 60. You'll learn to pick out the best ones to whine about and ignore the rest.
Is it safe to assume you have a variety of chest pains as well? Why in the world must heart attack symptoms and anxiety attack symptoms be the same? How about another report of how women don't even get chest pain with heart attacks most of the time? Well then, how about if I get a portable echo machine and just tote that around?
ReplyDeleteMy husband had a lot of trouble with sciatica...why am I more sympathetic of yours, but assumed he was being a baby? hmmm...
Oh, that one's easy (Dani, may I?) . . . you are more sympathetic to Dani's because she is a woman, and if she says something hurts, then that fucker HURTS, whereas men are whimps and if they complain of something hurting, it is usually a stubbed toe that they make out to be amputation.
DeleteN'est pas?
Mais oui...
Delete