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