SWEET JEESUS, I hate when people and kids whine.
So we’re on the same page, feel free to hate what I’m writing.
I’ve been in pretty much constant pain for the last week. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of pain that I can chalk up to a workout well done or some kind of sexual masochistic punishment. That would be fun to have attributed to the stupid-ass pain in my neck, shoulder, and back.
Last week, it just started as a muscle strain behind my right shoulder blade, one of those you can stretch out with a rub and a crack and maybe some soreness. But it didn’t go away and started becoming annoying when my arm would go numb and I couldn’t turn my neck.
Ibuprofen helped make it go away for a few days, but by Sunday and Sunday night, I was to the point where I could barely get to sleep.
Monday morning, I made an appointment with my chiropractor, so I went in that afternoon for an adjustment. They have a masseuse on staff, but since the medical insurance we have won’t allow a chiropractic adjustment on the same day as a massage treatment, I had to go back on Tuesday for the muscle massage.
Because that totally makes sense, insurance company?
I left on Tuesday with a sample package of these herbal muscle relaxers, which could totally be called “Pot Without the High.” (A sample package of “Pot With the High” looks like that picture up there.) I took two of those suckers and promptly conked out on the couch while the children played in the other room.
I think they were playing. Maybe the TV was on and they were watching Game of Thrones where they red lady gave birth to the Smoke Monster from Lost. If they were, it’s a well-learned lesson to not have unprotected sex with apparitions.
The point being, I’m suffering. This whole pain management thing is major suckitute where my will to be productive in life is being sucked out of my brains.
Luckily for Patrick, I’m a super quiet sufferer who keeps her frustrations and aches to herself.
Which is totally not true.
I’m a moaner and groaner.
In some situations, I’m sure he appreciates my moans and groans. By now, over 7 days into the constant reminder of my pain and inability to turn my head properly, he’s clearly over my whining. Somehow I hit the jackpot of husbands, and he hasn’t yet actually told me to shut my trap with my pain objections. He also rubs my acne-scarred back with BioFreeze with nary a comment about my unpretty skin. Told you: husband jackpot.
So don’t feel too bad for me when you’re thinking of me living in constant pain for non-dominant/submissive sex reasons because I have someone who will rub me down with eye-burning menthol and not complain.