Saturday, August 22, 2009

Sexual Healing is not as good as a chiropractic adjustment.

Yesterday as I left for work, my shoulder was a little sore.

Hm. Maybe I slept wrong.

By about 11am, my shoulder was throbbing.

By 1pm, my shoulder was up somewhere around my earlobe, all clenched and tight.

At 3 I went to the chiropractor, who's first question after seeing my face and my earlobe-kissing shoulder was: Are you going to puke ?

He has good reason to ask this question - it wouldn't be the first time I threw up at the chiropractor. The fact that he continues to see me as a patient is testament to his desire to heal.

Because dude, I need some healing on a regular basis, and not the Marvin Gaye kind.

So I lay there, and prayed that I wouldn't throw up, even as I felt myself slowly reaching that point, with the waves of nausea and pounding head and aching shoulder. I tried to distract myself. I tried to adjust my position. I tried to concentrate on my breathing. I was a mess. So after being adjusted, and not really feeling much better, I drove home. It was date might, we had a friend planning to come watch the kids, and reservations at a posh restaurant and DAMMIT I was going to go home and get my shit together and have a romantic evening.

But first, anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers, and other controlled sustances.

So I followed my usual "Oh my god I can't turn my head and I think I am going to yack" routine. (And yes, I do have one of those, thankyouverymuch).

I took my pills, and sat down to eat something per the instructions on the bottles. That actually didn't work out so well. Realizing that things were going from bad to worse, I decided to lie down. When I woke up, worse had gotten worser. And I don't really give a shit if that's not a word - it's exactly what happened. Things Got Worser.

In a moment of optimism, Sami left to pick up our friend to come watch the kids. After he left, I stood at the bathroom mirror chanting mantras about not throwing up, and cleaning the mirror to distract myself. The combination of opening my mouth to chant, and smelling the Windex, was a lethal combo.

About 10 minutes later, I called Sami on his cell, cancelled our evening, and went back to bed.

Today things are not much improved, but they are better - I am not nauseous, and can open both eyes and walk around. But I am still mighty short-tempered, which is just fun for everyone, let me tell ya. I put on my big girl panties and took Lucy to meet Hello Kitty, and ran an errand for work, and remembered to buy the dog food.

As far as I am concerned, I have done my part. And it is in everyone's best interest that I call it a day and go get a massage.

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