Traction, Twins, & Teens

ORIGINAL: MySpace (3/20/2009)


Traction, Twins, & Teens
Current mood: indescribable
Category: Life

I haven't blogged in FOREVER and thought maybe at least one soul out there might like an update on my crazy life... so here goes...

I'm tired and injured. Why isn't there workers' comp for stay at home moms? Gosh, there'd be a million jobs for claims people then, no doubt.

As some of you may know, carrying the twins put a lot of pressure on my back and caused a little permanent damage. Apparently my L3-4 and my L5-S1 are kaput. I cannot remember all the proper terminology, but the word stenosis keeps coming back to me. Maybe that means I'm supposed to write in my spine. Who knows? Basically, the physical therapist said, either I stop putting myself in danger by bending, stretching forward, and carrying things more than 5 lbs, or I'm heading for surgery in a few years. Oi. That means no more yoga that sends me forward, no more picking up things off the floor that my kids throw, and, oh... no more picking up my kids.

Uhhh, no.

I'm sure I can scale back on the yoga and just do the proper stretches for me here at home. I might even be able to get around the picking things up deal by buying 10 of everything. But I cannot get around picking up my kids. C'mon!!! Jon's TDY, my 14 year old is a nitwit... what am I supposed to do???

My physical therapist, who oddly looks like Joey McIntire from NKOTB, smiled and answered, "Traction. Three times a week."

Today was my first day, and may I just begin by saying, "Freakin' OUCH."

Mr. PTNKOTB thinks he's a hoot and announces, "It's like the rack from the Princess Bride. Hop on!" You're cute, Sporty, but not THAT cute. So he strapped me onto, well, this rack looking table. I was alarmed when he started belting my hips and my upper body with these two big bands. He said, "If you can breathe, it's not tight enough." I replied, "Next time I won't come straight here from Chinese buffet." I swallowed hard and held on for dear life.

It wasn't until after he'd strapped me in, raised my legs up a big, and turned the machine on that he said, "We'll start out with sixty pounds." "Sixty pounds of what?"

"Sixty pounds of pressure pulling your spine apart."

I was silent for a moment before trying to sit up and remove the bands at the same time. He gently pushed me back down and handed me a buzzer that would stop the machine or call him, I'm not sure which, since I had every intention of kicking him off of me and running out with the table attached and didn't bother to listen, but he soothed me by explaining that I wouldn't FEEL it so much as I would just be laying on the table, noticing it move... and didn't I deserve a nice nap?

Smooth talker.

Fifteen minutes later, he removed all the straps and invited me to sit up. Are you kidding me? I was frozen in position. He suggested I role to my side and sit up that way. Listen, honey, if I could do that, I wouldn't BE on the rack.

Finally, I was able to sit up with his help. He grinned and said, "Three times a week until I say otherwise. We want to keep you off the operating table." Good God, good day to you, too, Joey.

Needless to say, that's one more drama I'm dealing with at this time. Throw in two teething babies who refuse to sleep through the night, a mom in town visiting while Jon's OUT of town so she can "help" but really spoil the boys, and a witless teenager who insists on being, well... witless...

It's a wonder I'm not drunk everyday. As my friend Stephanie says, "I'm having a drink FOR you every day at five, girl." Will you do the same for me?