This is a post about the last three weeks. It has a few naughty words.
I'm finally mobile - this weekend I intend to drink my first beer in a month. I'm still hopeful of an MRI scan, mainly so I can scream "Aaaagh! It burns! It burns!" and freak out the technicians.
Back pain is an insiduous thing. It creeps up on you. Maybe after a long drive in a car, you experience a slight twinge, perhaps after a particularly vigourous session of copulation or maybe just carrying the drinks from the bar back to the table in an awkward fashion (twisting to avoid packs of revellers before eventually spilling Guinness into your loved one's lap.) It starts to build up. The damage, not the Guinness.
Then you do something fucking stupid like lifting a washing machine.
This is phase 1 of the pain. A small warning light goes on at the back of your head. You ignore it; you are, after all, young and therefore indestructable. But there's that thought: "I shouldn't have done that"
You dismiss it. Did I mention that you are, of course, invincible?
Phase 2 commences the following day. This is the beginning of the humourous 'funny walk'. No real pain yet, but for some reason your leg just won't do what its told. You contrive explanations for the limp involving sporting activities or feats of bravery. Nobody believes you.
If untreated (and of course, it is untreated - indestructible, remember?) Phase 2 leads to Phase 3. Phase 3 is when it starts to hurt a lot. Driving your car leaves you almost crying with the pain. Walking has turned into a old-man's shuffle. Your friends joke that you've either eaten a particularly impressive curry the night before, or have been doing things with your rear for which nature did not intend.
As Phase 3 becomes Phase 4, you finally seek help. This isn't going to go away by itself.
Of course, by then its too late. The medico hands out pills more suited to Phase 2 that make as much difference to what you're going through as urinating in the ocean does to the sea level.
Phase 4 is the phase of the Long Nights. Phase 4 is as bad as it gets on a physical level. You can no longer sleep or function as a human being. You consider various methods of suicide. The internet is consulted. Ultimately, you find yourself a coward and are driven by a family member to your next appointment with the medico. This is when Phase 5 begins.
The medico picks up on the buzzwords like "suicide" and "if this doesn't fucking end soon I'm going to fucking top myself". You also look like someone who has been on a month-long drug fuelled bender. Serious medication is prescribed. You take enough drugs to knock out a herd of elephants and sleep. At last.
You start feeling better.
But Phase 5 has a sting in the tail. Your friends (remember them?) don't really want to know you at the moment. Although you don't talk about it (invincible, yes?) the pain is written in big letters on your face. You are a huge wake-up call. A reminder that they are also not invincible. This is too awful for them to contemplate and so, gradually, you see less of them...
And Phase 5 becomes Phase 2 again. Mobility returns. Semi-normality returns. You aren't allowed to go back to work and become bored. You are also perpetually afraid that Phase 2 might become Phase 3. You're scared to lift anything. You're scared to walk in any way but a slow and careful gait. You're a living, breathing example of 'correct posture' in all you do.
You wonder if you'll ever dare strap on a pair of skis again, or will settle for watching the mountains of Whistler from a hot-tub and hitting the parties in the evenings instead.
And this is where I'm at right now. Just so I don't forget.
