The continuing adventures of Caity and chronic pain

So on Sunday,

I reached under the sink for a microfibre cloth. And my back said… “nope”.


I dropped to the floor in agony. Got myself into child’s pose (see, yoga is useful!) and tried to breathe. With help, managed to get to bed, and my psychiatrist confirmed I have a latissismus dorsi spasm. In layman’s terms -my back said “nope”. Saw my lovely General Practitioner today, and she confirmed I’m doing everything possible to help fix it… but it’s still saying nope.

So no, that’s not a boomerang, or a weird banana in the photo – that’s a weird perspective of my Monster Cane™️, made many years ago from hardwood with a smoothed ram’s horn handle, by an acquaintance who passed away only a few years back.

I can get around using it, very slowly. Doubled over. Shuffle stomp. But ohhhh, the relief when we could borrow a wheelchair at the doctors to take me to the loo, and then all the way down to the car. I nearly cried at how good it felt to not force my body, so painful all the time but worse at the moment, to just rest. To let the wheels take some of the work. Just sitting instead of actively balancing, rolling instead of painful lurching. Because on bad days? On bad days, on the days when my body feels like a prison cell because I can’t leave, I can’t do what I want to do? I don’t talk about those.

If I have to go out on ok days, I still get so tired, I often come home and just sleep.

And maybe it’s the pain. Maybe it’s depression. But I’m so, so tired of this being how it is. Of a good day costing two days in bed.

I thought I’d accepted this.

Until the wheelchair. I’d forgotten that maybe, something as simple and as out of reach as a wheelchair for bad days could make a difference.

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