I Hate the New Normal.
Tendonitis, they tell me: chronic, and calcified, and apparently dating from the time I dislocated my shoulder while surf-kayaking in 1991. Now, after almost two decades of peaceful dormancy the fucker decides to wake up and turn me into the One-Armed Wonder throughout the holidays— apparently provoked by too many lame-ass bench presses and one catalytic arm-flail while avoiding a faceplant on sheer ice.
It’s gotten a lot better on its own over the past couple of weeks, but now appears to have stabilized in Forget all about me until you try doing an exercise and then I will fuck you up mode. Physio, they say, should take off the edge, but I may still have to change my exercise regimen. Bad enough that we’re in the depths of that part of the year known as “The Plumpening”; now I’ve got stalagmites gumming up my rotator cuff. Fuck.
By the way, who was it that left their pants behind on my couch during Squiddance ’08? The navy-blue ones with the really skinny legs and some kind of big fabric evagination where the scrotum should be?
Whoever it was, you can pick ’em up any time.
I had a feeling you had scar tissue floating around in there somewhere. Ouch.
On the plus side, people leaving their pants at your house! Yay!
Surf-kayaking just sounds insane.
At least you know what your injury is and how it happened; my knee’s been playing up for no reason and randomly switching between having the tendon at the back being too tight to the kneecap jamming. Doing no exercise makes it worse. Doing too much makes it worse. Doing the wrong sort of exercise makes it worse. Bloody knees. Who designed these joints of ours, anyway? I shall be having words.
Wait. You aren’t about to tell the one about how you wrenched the shoulder firing off that Wetherby elephant gun at the beach in Phuket?
You and Erogenique were taking in the night air when the man-eating tiger attacked! Surely you haven’t forgotten the tale !?
“Cool as a cucumber, I pulled the .460 magnum from the boot of the Aston Martin, planted my feet, and stared down the beast. As the proud animal pounced, I fired, the recoil making me stagger back, but I had taken down the tiger with one shot.
‘Oh, Dr. Watts,’ Erogenique cooed, ‘that was so amazing!’
I let the weapon fall, turned and said, ‘Now, where were we, my dear?’ “
What? What??
Oh, c’mon, guys, it beats “I took a spill on the ice.”
Ask me sometime about how I took out my lumbar disc….
Okay, kids, I am going to eat donuts? And you can’t stop me?
Sorry about the shoulder, PW. It sucks, that part where the body gradually accrues the effects of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and shoulders, knees and backs just hurt sometimes. The toll to Father Time, I guess. The new normal.
F*ck it, I am gonna go eat a donut.
That sucks. My shoulder and RC have been giving me grief for months — impingement, some small tears and now — oh, joy! — bursitis. It’s only just now getting to the one step forward-one step back stage. That’s actually an improvement, mind you, not a complaint.
I’m told it will eventually behave. Hope yours does, too.
I wish they had been my pants. Partying at your place sounds like a blast.
I dislocated my knee once from a rather minor bicycle spill. I think I was like thirteen or fourteen at the time. Hopped up, realizing that for some reason I was standing on one leg. Looking down I see my leg just hanging there, swinging the wrong directions and not passing along whatever damage signals you just know were waiting.
So, I tried to move it, resulting in a grotesque sound as it snapped back into place. Like yanking the leg out of a roasted chicken. Once the wave of pain got over itself, everything seemed fairly ok, so I walked home and forgot about it. Now the bastard aches at random intervals, and I have to sort of twist it until it pops like a gigantic knuckle to relieve a sensation of pressure.
I’ll spare you the story of having a syringe jammed all the way through the joint of my big toe.
Try some Cissus Quadrangularis. It worked wonders for my oft abused shoulder / rotator cuff.
I guess no one wants to hear about my flare-up of hemeroids????
Only if it involves cool scary effects like carnifex’s knee snapping back in to place with a chicken-bone noise.
heme-roids? Is that a disease of the red blood cells? Sounds dangerous!
If you had posted this a few years ago I would have pointed my finger at the section in Blingsight concerning Siri’s zombified lover and screamed ‘AH HA!’
If it makes you feel any better my two year old kicked me square in the testicle yesterday and I literally fell over with tears in my eyes.
Two hours later, I was fine. At least your misery is spread out and not just compressed into a fine point and then jabbed somewhere soft and tender.
Blingsight? Is that some sort of condition resulting from dazzling one’s vision from tons of costume jewellery?
OUch for the shoulder, BTW. And you should auction the pants off on EBay.
Cheer up! How’s this for happy news?
Kisama said…
I wish they had been my pants. Partying at your place sounds like a blast.
Actually, while plenty enjoyable, Squiddance was a pretty sedate affair. There’s a limit to how many people you can pile on even a king-sized bed. And the pants turned out to be not pants at all, but a hoodie for a gorilla. The things you see when sleep-deprived.
Seth said…
If it makes you feel any better my two year old kicked me square in the testicle yesterday and I literally fell over with tears in my eyes.
It does make me feel better. That I don’t have kids.