This morning I woke up crying.  Not a good start to any morning.  It wasn’t some horrific dream – no, it was my stupid back that never really got better last week.  I haven’t had a good solid night’s sleep in about a week and a half now, but the waking up crying because I was in so much pain was pretty much the final straw.  I emailed my professor, because there was no way I was getting in a car to drive down to school to sit there feeling like hell.  Instead, I went to the chiropractor again, and learned that the getting worse?  Pretty much my bad.

Inflammation = bad.  Know what calms down inflammation?  Ice.  Know what inflames it even worse?  Heat.  Guess which one of those two I did a bunch of last week.  If you guessed ice, you’re wrong.  Very wrong.

So go me.  I’m now on restriction of basically any kind of normal movement.  Try going half a day without bending over or picking something up – it’s really freaking tough.  Add to that my wonderful trait of being incapable of asking for help, and you get a double whammy of fun.  I asked my boy to carry my laundry downstairs and pick up a bag of cat food before he left for work – he knows that if I’m asking for help, it’s pretty serious.

I got to experience the traction machine for the first time.  It was pretty cool – I got all belted in and strapped down like I was going to the moon, and then the machine very slowly and gently stretched me out.  I could have stayed like that all day it felt so damn good.  I guess other people had to use it too (whatever), so I got stretched out good, and sent home with my explicit instructions of what not to do for the next little bit.

Those instructions include ice, not heat.

Hmph.

Want to make someone crabby really quickly?  Put ice on their lower back.

Hmph.