Sculpin

So, around November 8 or so, Josh and I took out about half of our driveway. It’s in full sun, a really beautiful exposure; assuming it’s not horribly contaminated (I will be sending samples for testing) it’ll be a wonderful place to grow tomatoes once we get another raised bed in there.

We hadn’t really intended to do so much that day. I’d thought of it more as a day for proof-of-concept than anything else. But we got into the rhythm of it, using crowbar, 4×4s and sledgehammer to tear it up and break it apart. It was a lot of fun, and incredibly satisfying. Man, were we proud. A good day’s work.

I was unattractively smug the next day about hurting less than Josh (who turned out to be pretty nastily thrashed), though I did wonder about the odd cramps I was getting on my left side. And then after a few days, ye gods, my glutes, what the hell? And my leg! And lower back! Agh! Well, now I have a pretty good idea what the hell. I was the one doing most of the sledgehammering, and I strained the living daylights out of my left psoas. This probably wouldn’t have been too bad except for the Wood Chip Incident a few weeks later, when I reinjured it by hurriedly forking a mountain of woodchips off the sidewalk. And, um, turning the compost probably wasn’t a good idea either. I have, in short, been a big idiot. Once again, “Work through the pain” is not a great idea. It all got worse and worse.

As it happened, I had a standardized-patient gig a few weeks ago in which I played a patient with lower back pain. About the third time I had to fake my way through some tests that were supposed to be normal, I figured perhaps it was time to talk to my doctor. Josh and I see the same guy. It was kind of fun to go in and say, “Hey, remember when Josh came in last month with a back injury from taking out the driveway? Well…”

The good news is, I probably haven’t screwed up a nerve or slipped a disc. The other good news is, I am loaded up with Vicodin and muscle relaxants. The bad news is, I may well be like this for a good month longer. I was way too optimistic about how quickly this kind of thing heals. (Doctor: “And when you go up stairs, try going up only with your right leg and pulling your left leg up after.” Cam: “So, uh, not back to Pilates all that soon, then?” Doctor: *wince**twitch* “Yeah, probably not.”)

Anyway, I think I’m on the mend. I was having pain spikes up to 8+, but now they only go up to 6, 7 at the most. Whee. I can get out of bed now with just yelping instead of shouting, and I’m a lot less likely to be stuck all twisted up. But I’m pretty grouchy and impatient about it all.

The psoas does a lot for posture and balance, so it’s not a great idea for me to go sliding around in the snow. Which hasn’t kept me out of the snow entirely — I can get by with Josh’s Yaktrax plus two trekking poles if I don’t go far. But I’m getting stir-crazy here.

At least Facebook’s “Pet Society” is truly riveting when you’re on opiates. I have been racking up a tremendous score.

And I chipped in with my mom to buy Josh a gift certificate for a Long Haul Trucker for Christmas, so there’s some vicarious out-and-about fun. I can hardly wait to see Josh riding it! Go away, stupid snow!

When we take out the rest of the driveway, some fine day, we’ll do it right. Have a work party. Pizza. Beer. Maybe drag the stereo out and put the new Pretenders album on it. Let everybody have a piece of the fun, and (I hope) nobody have a piece of the ouch.

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