I'm getting old. Take the pinched nerve and muscle spasm combo I've got going on right now. It's a lovely combination, if you're into pain.
Which I'm not.
According to my chiropractor, I must have done it in my sleep because no matter how active I might think I am, it's really the only logical explanation. And that sucks, too.
While I screamed in pain and The Husband laughed (because he's been here before and it's much funnier to watch someone else get contorted like a circus freak) Dr. Pretzel (yes, I made that up because I am that talented) informed me that people who are used to sleeping next to a partner get all kinds of freaky when said partner is working the midnight shift and that once too-small queen mattress turns into a one-person-free-for-all. And since The Husband has confirmed that he has come home from work to find me sleeping sideways, upside down, and practically standing on my head, I guess this is something I cannot argue.
I knew something was wrong when I woke up two days ago. I really knew something was wrong when I was contemplating having a catheter inserted because wiping my own ass was turning into the worst pain in the neck I have ever experienced. And when I turned my head to tell The Husband to shove it because he had said something annoying and broke into tears before getting the satisfaction of having the last word, I decided to cry uncle, call the chiropractor, and get a much needed adjustment.
The point to this whole sordid predicament is that until the doc gives me the go-ahead, I am not allowed to shake it at zumba classes or even enjoy my evening walks through our subdivision with Buttercup. But do I get a break from the laundry? The vacuuming? The mopping?
(Ok. Ok. Yes. I actually do because my mom and sister are majorly picking up the slack because I am gimpy right now, but I had to try for that extra sympathy vote.)