DOCTOR, DOCTOR, GIVE ME THE NEWS...

So...I hurt myself.  Some of you already know this, but I'm going to talk about it anyways because it's my blog and I do what I want!

In light of full disclosure, I'm going to embarrass myself.  I hurt myself at the gym, but I didn't realize it at first. Well, let me rephrase... I knew I'd hurt myself, but it didn't seem so bad.  Maybe the endorphins had kicked in and  I wasn't feeling too much pain, or maybe I was just not paying attention, but I wasn't concerned about it until I got home, and by then my left arm had gone numb.  I'm going to assume that most of you would have thought at that point "Huh, I must've pulled a muscle or pinched a nerve."  Alas, my first thought was "OMG, I'm having a heart attack. I'm going to die here, on the floor, alone in my house."

Now, I'm not usually one to jump to that conclusion right off the bat, but to be 100% honest, I don't expect to live to be an old person.  My father died of a heart attack, my mom has heart issues, and I figure that if it isn't cancer (also rampant in our family) that takes me off, it'll be my heart doing something weird.  So there I was, in my kitchen, trying to decide if I was having a heart attack or not.  So, I Googled the symptoms.  That was not smart.  I didn't have most of them, but it "reassuringly" said that "For women, heart attack symptoms aren't always the common ones."  Well, damnit.  That pushed me over the edge and I began to have a panic attack, which in turn caused more of the symptoms that aligned with the common heart attack symptoms.  Greeaaaat.

Deep down where my common sense grows, and I do have some whether you believe it or not, I knew I wasn't having a heart attack.  Granted, I have very little useful medical knowledge, but something told me that I'd be in much worse shape than I was in if I were truly having a heart attack.  However, the rest of my brain went unto complete panic mode.  I called Steve and told him I was sure I was OK, but just in case I died unexpectedly, I was sorry.  Sorry about what, I couldn't tell you, but panic attacks are a bitch to begin with, and having one while you are convinced you are going to die are even worse and they make you a smidge irrational.  Did I head over to the hospital?  Nope.  I went on to work.  I figured that if I was going to die, why not do it at church? Cut out the middle man, right?  So I got to church, ransacked the first aid kit for some aspirin, and then sat down on the floor. Also, to cover all my bases, I took one of my anti anxiety pills. I was sitting there, in the floor of my office, all alone (everyone was late that day) wondering if I was going to die.

In case you're wondering, I didn't die.

No, I probably should have taken the anti-anxiety pill much, much sooner.  Once I calmed down, I realized that my arm was numb because I'd hurt my back.  I'd been so worried about my heart that I had ignored the fact that I'd pinched a nerve or pulled a muscle or whatever I'd done.  I was also very embarrassed that I'd gone to the edge of crazy for even a fraction of an hour.  Luckily, I hadn't gone to the hospital and insisted that I was dying.  I really, really don't want to end up being one of the people an ER nurse talks about when they are recounting stories about patients.  I mean, unless they are talking about patients who are awesome.

So that crisis averted, I managed to live with my back & neck pain for a few more days.  It was unpleasant, but I could deal with it.  It got kind of bad, but nothing I couldn't handle. At least I was able to handle it until the day I bent down to pet the cat.  Seriously, I just bent over to pet Rorschach and it was like my back said "NOPE! No more!"  It felt like I was stabbed by an icicle.  Everything locked up and I couldn't straighten up all the way.  Steve had to help me to bed and I just lay there like a slug.

As I was telling a friend of mine, I think pain is stupid.  If I'm going to hurt, I want to have to work for it.  Laying in bed or on the couch and just hurting because I'm awake annoys me.  I know pain is important because it helps you to understand your limitations and keeps you from doing things to further injure yourself, but still, it's stupid.  I didn't listen to my pain, and of course, that make it worse.  The day after I had to be put to bed like somebody's maw-maw, I decided that it wasn't so bad.  I had errands to do and I needed to get them done that day, so I hauled myself out of bed and out into the world where I pretty much walked around without bending my neck or moving too fast.  It sucked.  I wound up on the couch for the rest of the day lying on a heating pad/ ice pack, except for when I managed to construct a nifty little harness to strap a cold pack to my back so that I could get up and move around.  The pain came and went all weekend, which was no fun, but at least I didn't have to be immobile the whole time.

I went to the doctor this morning, and he didn't seem very concerned about my back.  I thought he'd at least refer me to a chiropractor, or prescribe a muscle relaxer or something, but he didn't.  So I guess this will just have to pass on its own.  If not, I'm going to have to find a chiropractor on my own.  Fun stuff.

At least I didn't die of a heart attack, though, right? Silver lining! :)