5 Things To Do When You Feel Like Life Sucks

Sometimes life just sucks

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Little Mary Sunshine isn't dead; she's just taking a sabbatical. I'm at one of those infuriating stages with my disease and chronic pain. You recognize that feeling, don't you? I'm sure if you are reading this, and you live with a similar problem, then you will understand. Some days, you just feel like climbing into bed and zipping up the covers and placing a lock on the zipper. If only it were that simple. Life, fortunately, just keeps bobbing along, pulling me along in the current, and I'm swimming as fast as I can, considering how I feel. It's not exactly the call of the wild. It's more like the call of the mate, the needs of life and body, the beckoning of dirty laundry. It's the dogs that have to go out, eat and demand play. You try feeling sorry for yourself when you truly deserve a good pity party but find yourself, instead, looking into those big, soulful eyes beneath bushy canine eyebrows. Do you know how excited a dog can get when you utter the magic words, “Want a bone?” I wish I had something that made me wag my tail like that. Right now, I don't think I could wag my tail anyway, even if I had one.

The trip to Texas is still taking its toll on my body. The costochondritis in my rib cage is acting up. My sitter is still feeling like a brick. I've spent all day today reviewing the DonTigny procedures I mentioned in the last blog because those exercises, stretches and maneuvers have saved my tush more than once. They are truly a godsend, but it's difficult to move when you are in pain. Let's see, lie here and feel sorry for myself and watch a movie or get up and save my tush by exercising? Decisions, decisions, decisions. I hate it when I want to be pitiful and life just places the responsibility right back in my lap, and a sore lap it is, too. You know, when you have sacroiliac joint disease, it feels like an elephant is sitting on your pelvis. I've been having these rather rude conversations with myself telling me to get into it or, (drum roll please) I will have to go back to the physical therapists for intense treatment. Don't misunderstand me, please. The physical therapists I see are great guys. They are younger than I am, and in such good physical condition it's enviable and rather disgusting. I just dread having to drag my body to the car, drive to the appointment, search all over for a parking place because I'm terrible at parallel parking, sit in a hard plastic chair and wait for the appointment. Then there is the disrobing and the baring of my geriatric behind to those young men. There is heat, ultrasound and all those maneuvers. Halfway through it all, I have to ask for an emesis basin (you know the old barf bowl) because the pain is so intense it's literally nauseating. Just hearing myself say this I sound profoundly lazy. I don't think I am. I just dread it all, intensely. Year after year, it all gets so old, old, old.

I would be so much happier if I could get myself out of this fix on my own. I have all of the information; I have done it before so only time will tell. It depends on how much I can do under the circumstances. One of the maneuvers which is called the “ezfix” involves having a strong person pull my leg. That's no joke. I mean literally pull my leg because when the sacroiliac joints are subluxated or displaced, your legs are not the same length. My husband, Jim, is usually the strong person who gets to do this for me, but he can't right now because he is still recuperating from his fall on the ice, poor guy.

I got so vigorous about the exercises last week I hyperextended my knee and had trouble walking all weekend. Jim with his injured arm, was sitting there looking like Frankenstein's twin, I was hobbling around groaning with every move and the whole thing just struck me. I got the giggles so intensely I couldn't stop. The two dogs sat there staring up at us, in serious concern as we both laughed away. I think they were worrying about what they were going to do about dinner if their two humans self-destructed or cracked up. Sometimes life is just so grotesque you have to either laugh or cry. Me? I usually get the giggles and get so silly I've often humiliated my children and my spouse.

Soooo? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it because it is the absurd truth. No one, except Stephen King, has a grotesque enough imagination to make up all the problems I face. If they did, no one would believe it. I know from previous bouts that this will pass and there will be a sunnier day. In the meantime I will just hang on, find some pleasure in the midst of all this pain, take my pain pills and muscle relaxants, do my exercises and avoid any long trips that involve sitting on my backside. I also may talk to all of you along the way because as good old Martha Stewart would say, “That's a good thing.” I'm so glad you're out there because you give me strength for this battle that is my life.

I used to have a friend who said, “When you come to the end of your rope, just tie a knot and hang on.” I'm hangin', how are you doing?


Last Updated:2/6/2007
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Date: 12.12.2018, 16:52 / Views: 54232