Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the tag “pinched nerve”

Howling Weenie

Mom was going to go visit the little human PUNKIN this evening.  Let me tell you, it does not look the least bit like a PUNKIN or even a pumpkin; it has all the appearances of being a small human, but PUNKIN it is, at least according to mom.

Mom seldom makes sense.

She didn’t go visit the PUNKIN tho because she said her damn butt won’t fall off and it hurts too much to drive and she hopes they block her nerve tomorrow and if not someone is going to hurt.  I’m a cat so I’m not a someone so I should be safe.  But I can tell you what, she also said something about not getting to have coffee in the morning and I think someone should call for help.  Meanwhile probably tomorrow morning Mo and me will be under the bed.  Far under the bed.  What stupid person told mom no coffee?  I will poop in their sink.

Anyway I’ve only been in that horrid car thing with her a few times and I was about to die so maybe I missed some details but I never noticed she drove with her butt.

Anyway, now Murphy the Idiot Dog is howling and barking like a fool, locked into the bedroom so he won’t growl at a bunch of other little humans – little humans who are obviously delusional as they are wearing clothing that makes them appear to be things we all know they aren’t and cannot be.  For instance, earlier, some little human came to the door begging for food – and not even healthy food, we have apples on the counter and low fat cottage cheese in the refrigerator but, no, the little human asks for candy and a trick.

I was trying to tell the little human we have no candy and Mom does not allow candy in the house even though that makes her cranky and I think if something makes you cranky you should stop doing it.  But, no.  She keeps no candy in the house and then opens cupboards looking for candy she already knows isn’t there.

And people think cats don’t make sense.

Anyway, I tried to tell the little human that I knew he was not a spaceman, and that in fact his space suit is made of cheap Chinese plastic and he will suffocate in about 39 seconds if he goes into space wearing that and that second, we have no candy.  Mom said, Chunker!  Get in the house! like she thought I was heading out for a stroll or something.

Dammit.  She’s onto me.

So I looked at her innocently and wrapped myself around her legs purring like all I really wanted was to tell her I love her while she gave the little human idiot who wasn’t a real spaceman:  CANDY.  Now the little human is going to get rotten teeth and is still delusional that his space suit will keep him from dying in outer space.

Wait.  What???  We have CANDY IN THE HOUSE?  and I’m putting up with her cranking all the time about how many weeksdayshoursmintuesseconds it’s been since she ran and she could instead be eating chocolate and shutting UP?

Dammit.

The damn dog is making me crazy, the irritating little weenie won’t quit HOWLING and barking.  I guess that’s why it’s calling Howling Weenie.

Me and Mo are the only ones in this house with any brains.

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(Credit for today’s post title goes to Chunker, who just walked across my keyboard – cool how it fits perfectly.)

Six weeks and 3 days since my last run.

6.5 miles walked this week.  I wasn’t Little Miss Positive this morning when I stated glumly to the hubs that I walked 3-1/2 miles yesterday and cranked that today my butt (my real butt, not my falling off butt) is sore; apparently I’ve lost a lot of conditioning in those 6-3/7th weeks.

The new cat is sitting on the kitchen counter next to me, purring.  Sweet, but more on Mr. No Mo another time.  I do have to state, however, that this cat farts more than any animal I’ve ever met. Every. single. time. he. eats.   And, repeatedly.  If there were a cat farting Olympics he would win gold.  But no one and nothing can possibly fart that often and that smelly without some type of aid, so probably USADA would soon be after him to determine if he were taking farting steroids.  OMG.  Thank you, little baby Jesus in your little wooden crib, for ceiling fans.

The Doc’s office called yesterday, 8 days after the nerve conduction test, to tell me what I already knew (pinched nerve) and to tell me something new:  they want to do a nerve block.

That’s a bit worrisome in view of the thousands of people now waiting to hear if they have meningitis.  Not that I’m trying to be negative, but the positive thinking thing is getting to be a constant effort and since I am, by nature and nurture, a realist (for more on being a realist read here and here), and with the euphoria of having a real diagnosis worn off and the pain not abated, struggling to squash that is, basically, a struggle.  It doesn’t help that (aided by Dr. Google) I’ve come to realize that a pinched nerve is the gift that just keeps giving.

Uh-Oh – news flash – don’t pick Mo up by the tummy.  It squishes out Mo farts.  Just let him walk across the keyboard and then erase the extra typing.  GAH.  Be back in a minute, I’m going outside.

Ok, I’m back.  *WHEW* Do you think I could find mustard gas masks on Ebay?

Friday I stretched as instructed by the PT and began some core work as instructed by the PT.  Then, I did something very radical:  I stood up.  As I stood, Thor, the god of thunder, stabbed me in the back with his bolt of lightning.  I looked at Killer, and Killer looked at me.  “I guess we’re done for today,” she stated, staring at my bulging eyeballs and fried hair, and I hobbled to the car and drove home sitting sideways.  By Sunday morning it had calmed down quite a bit; I was still getting random jolts causing me to jerk erratically as I walked, but the Finish Line Crew expects erratic and random things from me and no longer notices much of what I do, thank you again, Little Baby Jesus.

The realization that this is going to be a recurring issue the rest of my life, according to the PT, is still a bit new and still stings.  I realize it can be controlled, that it will probably only rear its BFOS head occasionally, and I don’t have cancer or heart disease and I’m not under investigation by USADA (yet, but then so far the Mo farts have not escaped the house).  But I’m still kinda bummed about the issue.  Monday I rode my bike.  Unfortunately afterward my first two toes went numb, which made the PT frown.  Hey, the feeling came back after an hour or two.  Cheer down.

OK, then, no biking.  No running, no biking.  I can: walk carefully, do the elliptical or swim (at which her beady little eyes began to gleam).  You both realize that I no longer hate swimming, but I do not, to any degree, like it.

So here we are, Wednesday morning, I’m still Gloomy Gus despite all my mental rah-rahing and positive thinking.  Probably positive thinking needs to drop words such as never, don’t like, don’t wanna and dammit.  Replacement words:  coffee, cat, dog, um…yay…um…ice cream (no, skip that, too many calories, dammit) ah, crap, I just said dammit.

Hopefully the Doc’s office will call today with the info on the nerve block, I’m sure it will be next week before it can be done at this point; apparently it will be 4-6 weeks after that for everything to heal and maybe my Christmas gift will be a run.

In the meantime I’m going to go check out gas masks.  Or move my office outside.  While I’m doing that, I’m going to paste below a very very nice note my friend, um, “Missy” posted on my FB page this morning (to meet “Missy”, visit here, “Missy” loves Zombies.)  I thought you both might enjoy it.  I know it made my day, even if she is a crazy nutjob runner.

++++++++++++++++++

Terri – Last Saturday I ran a 10k and when Sunday morning came around I just really didn’t feel like getting out of bed to run The Beast. I volunteered to help before the race so I had to go. It was nice talking with you and being the genuine person you are, it was impossible for you to hide your disappointment and frustration with your injury and not being able to run. (Oh how we crave that daily dose of endorphins to keep our minds and souls at peace.) When the race started and I started running I already had in my mind that it was going to be bad. Too little hormones and too much lactic acid was not a good mix that morning. Close to mile 4 I thought, “I’m done….. not feeling it this morning.” I figured when I pass that parking lot I am going straight to my car. Then there you were at the water station. I remember telling you I want to stop. And you told me I can if I want. But there was something about the look on your face that told me the rest….. “How dare you stop now?” “Wish I could finish it for you?” “WTF is wrong with you?”  Something. I knew I had to finish. I guess I just want to let you know that your passion for running carried me this past Sunday and I am going to let it carry me through New York in a few weeks too. Thank you for sharing your passion, your pain, and your disappointment, because although it is awful for you, I bet there are many more of your friends out there who, like me, you encourage without you even knowing it. Stay strong, heal quickly, and keep encouraging others. Thank you sweet girl…

:

Isn’t that radiculos?

Here’s some words you may not have heard before:  S1 Radiculopathy.  Sounds Harry Potterish, doesn’t it?

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Harry and Snape are facing off in the Hogwarts hallway.  Snape throws a Flaming Arrow of Death at Harry, who deflects it at the last second with a shout:  “RADICULOPATHIUM!!”

Snape grabs his back and leg, falling to the ground writhing in pain as his body spasms.  “STOP!” he begs, “Stop!  It hurts!  I’ll quit trying to kill you and turn into a good guy!”

Harry snarls, but since he’s the Goodest Guy of all Good Guys he finally sighs.  No one can ever be as Good a Guy as Harry, but Harry never gives up hope in his fellow sorcerers.

“Fine, get up,” he says, “let’s do 15 minutes of back extension.” and he buckles Snape into the machine.

Snape sighs.  “Can I just stay in this thing until closing time?” he asks.

++++++++++++

It’s been five weeks of near death experiences for my family even given the presence of the Keurig and copious amounts of Creme Brulee and Macadamia Cookie.  Probably if you haven’t been running in five weeks you might should lay off the caffeine unless you can find some other stress relief.  Probably screaming at emails and televised debates does not count as stress relief.  At least not for hubs and the animals.  I felt better.  Wasn’t that what mattered?

This Monday I had the nerve conduction test and it appears I don’t have a whole lotta nerve like I thought.  Apparently a lotta my nerve is getting hung up at my first sacral vertebra where the disc is being a bully and pushing the sciatic nerve around.  Kinda like Debbie Smith did to me in 5th grade, not that I harbor resentment.

I was so happy.  I was SO happy!  I was texting everyone I could think of!  I HAVE A PINCHED NERVE!  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

I even made up phone numbers and texted it to those.  Just so I could have more people to text about how happy I was.  You know what?  Some people are not impressed by happy news.

I actually do have a real thing that’s wrong and fixable.  It has a name.  It’s a radiculous name, of course – why would I expect otherwise? – but who’s to quibble.

Quibble.  Kinda like Quidditch, huh?  Appropriate – there’s some tiny thing whizzing around ready to smack you at any time.  It flies under the bleachers and hides, and just when you think, OK, cool, it’s all under control, the damn thing slams you in the butt and your butt decides to try to fall off again, so it can get out of the way.

Butt — now we have a name, and a plan.

Got a lotta d@mn nerve…

It’s 45 degrees, windy, solid grey skies.  I’m sipping some Gingerbread K-Cup and looking at the lake.

At least now, while I’m looking at the lake, the pontoon is tied to the dock.  As opposed to earlier, when it nearly wasn’t.

Lazy Saturday morning, I’m warm and comfy in my fleece, sipping the Nectar of Gods Keeping All Humanity Safe when I notice the pontoon is sideways to the dock and trying to escape.  Maybe it has a crush on the party barge across the cove.  They do have a ladder to the roof, where they have a slide down to the lake.  I’m rather jealous, myself, of that slide.  The pontoon had managed to slip every moor but one and had enlisted the wind to assist in its escape.

It took hubs about four tries to get the boat parallel to the dock without the wind blowing it back sideways and we were able to get a rope around the back end.  Meanwhile Murphy barked and ran back and forth like he was on the Titanic and we were all going to die.  “SHUT UP!” I yelled, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE ON THE DAMN BOAT!” which did exactly nothing to improve the situation.  It’s now tied to the dock like a gangster tied up in a trunk and hubs is at Lowe’s buying some heavy-duty hardware.  At least he won’t be bored this morning, just sitting around enjoying the newspaper or something, right?

Oh, and while I sit here my a$$ and hamstring are pinging like I’d just stuck my toe in the lake while holding a live wire.  ZZZZZat!  ZZZZat!!!

I’m an adult.  I’m over 21, I’m an adult and still I find myself constantly having to remind myself that I need to pull up my big girl panties and act like one.  After Dr. Googling and icing and stretching and grumbling and basically acting like a whiny baby jerk I finally folded.  I went to see a local sports ortho.

What should my next tattoo be?  on my eyeballs?  “Go to the experts, SmartA$$?”

She thinks I have a nerve issue, possibly a pinched nerve.  I have a Medrol dose pack, muscle relaxer, Lidocaine lotion, PT, and an appointment for a nerve conduction test.  She has told me to run short and slow Sunday, and report back Monday.

I GET TO RUN TWO MILES!!!!!!

WE’RE ALL GOING TO LIVE!!

I LOVE POLITICIANS!

Whoa, slow down girl, get a grip.

I’ve promised Our Lady Queen of Pain that I am going to go see her every month for the rest of my life.  I’m going to give up cussing.  I’ll quit drinking coffee.

Obviously the muscle relaxer is working, at least on my brain.

Murph lends hubs moral support.  No opposable thumbs so he’s not very good with the knot tying, though.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch:  Cat, Coffee Mug, Kahlua K-Cup and *sigh*

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