Still Crippled

This week I wanted to wish my customers into the cornfield because my back is still so messed up that I can scarcely walk, let alone work. They were undeterred. One potential customer dangled a $1,200 golf ball sale in front of me for a couple of days before backpedaling. He might still come through, but it's probably just another false alarm.

Back pain becomes fair fodder for a blog post when it affects my business for weeks (and, what's worse, makes me lose a week of perfect gardening days). Earlier this week I felt better and thought that exercise might do me some good, so I finished my weeding (actually hoeing, since I can't bend over). That was too ambitious; I re-injured myself and set my recovery back by at least a week. 

When I was 20 years old I jumped from a sand dune in Charlevoix and landed stiff-legged on the beach, unconsciously expecting it to be soft and fluffy like snow. Of course, sand is more like concrete. I messed up my sacroiliac and had to be carried from the field. I didn't have insurance and I didn't want to inconvenience my friends, plus I was young and invulnerable, so I never saw a doctor. The old sacroiliac has failed in a major way at least half a dozen times in the decades since then.

I assume that's what happened, although I'm not completely sure. Heat, ibuprofen, and stretching help a little, so that's probably muscle pain. I'm going to have to see my doctor if I'm not mobile again by Monday. I don't like doctors; doctors are for sick people and they cost money. Maybe he can refer me to physical therapy or acupuncture or cortisone shots or a heavy-duty anti-inflammatory or a back brace or medical marijuana or something. 

Now I must try to get dressed so that I can attend to my chores -- go ahead, try to put on socks without bending at the waist and see how long that takes you. But the orders must go out. It's not like I can call in sick.