I’ve been trying lately to write more about my old life instead of what’s currently going on.
Back before my main job was my health, when my skin didn’t smell like cinnamon from the Tiger Balm and I didn’t spend large amounts of time researching alternative pain remedies. (Most of which leave me disappointed.)
I have 38 years worth of stories that don’t revolve around chronic pain.
I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled this world a little. I’ve gone to Las Vegas, Sanibel Island, on a Caribbean cruise where I ate fried plantains for the first time on a sidewalk in Puerto Rico and overpaid for my daughter to get braids in her hair on a beach in St.Thomas.
Well, the kid was thrilled and we were on vacation. I’m over it.
The people at the psych hospital teach something called Radical Acceptance, they practically drill it into you. I might have mentioned it before, my memory is fucking shady these days.
Accept what is, even though you may not like it.
Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?
The Beatles have their own version of it. Let it be.
Great advice, yet not all that easy to master. Just when I think I’m finally there, I slide down a few notches.
I’m going on day 16 of extreme lower back/side level 10 yelling “fuck!” kind of pain. I have tried everything in my bag of tricks (the rabbit refuses to come out and help) to get rid of it but nothing seems to be working unless I take a high dose of narcotics. I have my TENS unit on as I type this, trying to zap it away instead.
I keep humming The Electric Slide.
You gotta know it!
It’s electric, boogie woogie, woogie!
I learned how to do that dance back in high school, although I doubt that I could do it now without swearing like a drunken sailor.
Can you imagine?
I can. It’s pretty damn hysterical.