If it wouldn't hurt like hell to do it, I'd climb up the mountain (or in my case the little bunny slope a couple doors down from our townhouse) and shout at the top of my lungs, "Enough already!"
A few weeks before we were to leave for the UK in November, I began to show symptoms of pain in my left lower extremity (that's how they say leg in medical speak—which makes no fucking sense to me, since it takes 15 keystrokes to type it instead of three). I've had that kind of pain before, and the doc always would say it's sciatica caused by a probable bulging disc or two in my lumbar spine (er. . . lower back). Yes, I know you know what that meant, but let me have my fun.
The last time I experienced any inconvenient symptoms from my disc bulge(s) was in 2005. I was given exercises to help strengthen my core, which I didn't do very often. Anyway, the pain left, and I always tried to be careful when lifting, twisting in the shower, or throwing my legs up over my . . . uh . . . nevermind. The threat from my doctor was always lurking that if I continued to have these problems, I'd have to get an MRI, but I managed to dodge that bullet for years.
One fact of my life as a period keyboard owner and performer is that I, on occasion, must move my own instruments. That's why we own a mini-van. You didn't think we drove one because we wanted to, did you? We have all the necessary tools: instrument covers with lifting straps, multiple dollies, seats that disappear into the floor of the vehicle, a stoop out front with only a few steps to navigate, etc. The only thing that Incontesta and I lack are exceedingly strong backs. But we have managed. We take turns taking the heavy end, and we've been successful in moving the fortepiano and harpsichord on many occasions. The fortepiano weighs just less than 200 lbs. and the harpsichord is probably between 80 and 90 (maybe a little more). And with the strapped covers and the dollies, moving these particular instruments isn't terribly difficult for the two of us (four makes it really easy, but we can't always rustle up the help). Nevertheless, I'm told by both my physician and my chiropractor that moving the instruments over the past 10 years is probably why my back is now fucked like a $2 ho.
One bulging disc (5 x 9 mm extrusion), one herniated disc (8 x 11 mm extrusion), and two degenerating discs. Krikey! (The doc's threat of an MRI finally caught up with me the Friday before Christmas. Have you ever had one? Oy! The NOISE!)
Now, this picture is not from my MRI (just thought it might add some drama to my lamenting post); but it's very similar to mine, from what I can see with my layman's eyes with that big old bulge down there.
Continuing on . . .
Two weeks before we were to leave for London, my lovely MD prescribed for me prednisone, vicodin, and a muscle relaxer. Yummmm! Made the trip manageable. Since then, however, he's told me that the vicodin train is about to pull into the station, and I'm going to be getting off. (Rats!)
So, in hopes of putting this all behind me, I'll be seeing a back surgeon within a week or so (MD's orders) to get his opinion, AND I've begun this treatment plan at a reputable back clinic downtown Chicago, which in one month—God willin' and the creek don't rise—will heal my aching back non-surgically.
Oh, yeah . . . I've also started weaning myself off the drugs. God knows I don't wanna have to go cold turkey when the doc pulls the plug on the refills!
