Saturday morning, I participated in some sparring and wrestling practice with some other members of the gym I go to. It was a fun workout that lasted nearly two and half hours, most of which was spent literally rolling around on the floor.
Sunday morning, I woke up with a pronounced stiffness in my lower back. My kids and I laughed as I hobbled around the house, hunched slightly over, one hand pressed against my lower back. I was the stereo type of a little old lady.
By bedtime, the dull ache of a good workout had morphed into the sharp, sickly pain of injury. I tossed and turned in bed, unable to get comfortable. Sleep came in small bursts, punctuated by the sharp stabs to my lower back.
I lurched into the bathroom, at some point in the wee hours of the morning. Falling onto my knees I retched into the toilet, emptying my stomach of the paleo brownie and water I had after dinner. Stumbling down the stairs, I stripped my clothes as I walked toward the backdoor. Walking through the snow in my bare feet, I practically dove into the hot tub, but no comfort was found there either.
I hadn’t hurt this badly since my kidney stone two years ago. Once that thought was in my head, I couldn’t let the idea go. If you’ve ever had a kidney stone, you know that any lower back pain is always accompanied by the fear that you have another stone. Even if, logically, you realize the pain is probably caused by something else, the memory of the stone overrides common sense.
When morning finally came, I called into work to say I was going to the doctor. The problem was that the mental monologue that continuously runs in my head was drowned out by the sounds of my own pain. Though I tried to be coherent, I’m pretty sure the message on my supervisor’s voice mail sounded like, “STACY PAIN…BACK. DOCTOR. CALL…LATER.”
At the doctor’s office, a nurse took my vitals and got the preliminary information.
“How do you think you hurt your back?”
“Well, I was doing some mixed….I was wrestling for a couple hours. I think I tweaked it,” I hesitated. “I had a kidney stone a few years ago. I know it’s probably the wrestling but it hurts just as bad. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m afraid of another stone.”
I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The effort of maintaining this coherent series of words caused me to break out in a sweat.
“Actually, it does make sense. We’ll probably do an abdominal x-ray just in case,” she said. “On a scale of zero to…”
“Ten,” I said, knowing she was going to ask me to rate the pain.
“Ten being the most…”
“Ten!”
“So, a ten, then?” She asked, smirking.
“TENNN!”
Tests were run, x-rays taken, I was poked and prodded. Best of all, I got a shot to relieve the pain. I don’t remember the drug’s exact name, but it sounded like something from a Saturday Night Live skit: Damnitall or something. It was fabulous. In less than a minute, I was able to sit upright and the screaming of pain was reduced to a whisper. I could hear the voices in my head again!
The doctor returned. “Good news, it’s probably not a stone… at least none showed up on the x-ray. We can only see 70% of stones that way, but I’m pretty sure it’s a muscular thing.”
“A muscular thing?” I repeated. Surely, that’s not the exact medical term.
“A muscular thing. I’m going to give you a prescription for some anti-inflammatories…and a muscle relaxant for the pain. Don’t drive if you take that, it will make you sleepy. For the next five to seven days, no lifting anything out in front of you, no lifting anything over your head and,” he had a note of disdain when he added “…no wrestling.”
I looked at him blankly for a minute. “What about karate? Can I do karate?”
He stared back at me. “No! No karate. No wrestling. No martial arts. Take your pills. Let your body do it’s job and heal itself.”
I groaned, but acquiesced. That means I’ll miss two karate classes and an onramp fitness class. I promised myself to pay more attention to my body, next Saturday, and ease into wrestling a little more slowly.
