So after 8 months of sitting on my ever-widening rear end, I finally had my epidural a couple weeks ago.
I don’t normally consider myself a particularly patient person but I have to admit I’ve been uncharacteristically tolerant these past months, living like someone who abhors being active. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not like my friend Pam, who at 62 (a mere 2 years younger than me), runs 2 half marathons a week in addition to running another hard 9 miles in the hills one day a week. She lifts weights 3 days a week and takes yoga classes as well. Whew!
No, I’m not a masochist like Pam, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m simply someone who enjoys playing tennis, hiking now and then, biking with Pam (oh yeah, she also bikes), working out to yoga and Pilates tapes, taking an occasional jog and even snowboarding once in a while.
Hold on a second while I scream at a fly dive-bombing me in my bedroom.
If you don’t get out of here this second and leave me alone, I’m gonna send you sailing into that wall and I’m afraid you won’t be getting back up!
Okay, I’m back. Forgive me for that little tirade, will you? It’s not like me to want to hurt anything, even a fly. It’s just doing what flies do — being annoying. They can’t seem to help it. But did that stop me from screaming at it? Obviously not. And I’ll tell you why.
A couple weeks ago I posted, Help, I’m Crumbling, about my achy breaky back. The MRI disclosed a herniated disc and 2 collapsing vertebrae. As an added bonus, I’m now blessed with sciatica and a dollop of arthritis in my spine. In other words, I’m a mess. So the next step is an epidural injection of cortisone.