Playing Through the Pain

My arm muscle, whichever it is, is damn serious about keeping me from knitting.  At knitting group last night, I got about 12 rows done before having to stop.  And the pain has continued through today.

This is not going to end well.  I'll either lose my sanity from lack of having something to do, or my arm will be shot from overuse.  

Hey, maybe they can come up with some sort of radical new surgery to deal with knitting-related injuries.  I could be the Tommy John of the fiber world!

On the DL

You may remember that several months ago, Hannah and I went for massages, and my right arm, which had been giving me trouble while knitting, got quite a workover.  As in, to the point of sort of hideous bruising.  That masseuse thought the problem was in my bicep, and gave me stretching and other exercises to help things along.

Well, in the last two or three weeks, the pain had returned, and was actually worse.  Hannah and I had, again, been looking for a date to go in for massages, and when we found one, we pounced.

This time, the masseuse decided the trouble was the deltoid muscle.  And he worked on it for probably half of our entire session.  Hurt (still hurts) like a mother.  And his suggestion was that I cut back on knitting.

Right?  Tell a knitter not to knit.  When that knitter is about to go away for a couple of days and knitting was one of the only three Trip Goals.  Tell a knitter not to knit when the Super Bowl is coming up?

But you know what?  If I knit for very long, the pain is all but unbearable.  Dammit.

Pain

I've developed some sort of "syndrome" or "itis" in the biceps of each of my arms --- especially the right.  Knitting for more than about 90 seconds brings on sharp, not-quite-unendurable pain.  I had a massage last Thursday, and the masseur said he could work it all out in about 6 months, but that a physical therapist could probably take care of it in 8 weeks.  So, I've got a phone call to make tomorrow.

Stump

For some reason, both our dogs have been whining all day long.  It has driven me insane.  Rupert, in particular, has been persistent with his shrill yodel.  I have no idea what the problem/issue is, I just know I have a column of agony in the right side of my brain drilled from the top of my head down to my top teeth.

My psychiatrist refused altering my medications, though I begged him to.  He said, firstly, I am taking so many things, trying to pinpoint exactly what to change and how much would be almost impossible to do.  I can understand that, but I NEED HELP.  His answer was that since depression is such an isolating disease, I need to get out and with other people as much as possible.  I told him that I volunteer once a week, and have my knitting group every other week.  Nice "start," he said.  Add one more activity before the year is over was what he sent he me away with.

I could have punched him in the throat.  I am so angry and so tired and so devoid of hope.  And I am now in physical pain, which I trust will be lessened by a massage tomorrow afternoon.  (It is agonizing to even knit.)  I am running wholly and completely out of ideas here.

No Pain? Not Likely

Hannah and I had our girly spa day yesterday.  A major glitch threatened to spoil it, as we were not given a couples' room as we had asked for, and gone over several times.  I had wanted it to be a true togetherness experience, but. . .

The biggest take-aways are that Hannah loved it.  She was completely blissed out by the whole thing.  And that I have something akin to Frozen Shoulder Syndrome*, except that my trouble is in the meat of the bicep on my right side, and closer to, but not actually in the joint on my left side.  The pain when the masseuse hit that right muscle was almost enough to lift me right off the table.  And today, it is sore, bruised and swollen:

I'm icing and taking naproxen sodium, but the hurt is relentless yet.  There are exercises to do, and another appointment in two weeks.

But the facial was very relaxing!


*My mother had a frozen shoulder at one time --- her doctor had to manually break the joint apart to give her any relief.  Don't think this will require anything that extreme.

Course of Action

The dog bite is still an extremely painful nuisance.  I'm draining pus out of it regularly, but it feels feverish and hurts to bend.  Still, reading The Gun Seller and watching "The West Wing" are helping out a lot.

A blogging friend whom I did not know long enough, Paula Kilgallon, died a few days ago, after battling Multiple Myeloma for, I think, three years.  She was remarkably good-humored and positive about her situation, and I have been so very saddened at her loss.  Dear God, let someone somewhere see the light and stop focusing on how to give men erections and turn their efforts to killing this monster cancer.

I'll be going to Nashville next week, to meet with an estate sale dealer.  It would destroy Mama, as intensely, almost pathologically, private as she was, to know that strangers were roaming through her house, but I simply cannot do it by myself.  An estate sale clears the house out of all but the necessities, and prepares it for someone (it's looking more and more like Hannah at this point) to move in and make it their own.

I've realized I couldn't live in that house.  The times I've been up there since she died have been sheer disasters.  And it isn't the house I grew up in;  there aren't really the stock of memories that Briton and Hannah have.  So I'll go up for a few days and set things in motion, and then take the next step when it's time.

Playing Hurt

Periodically, our dogs will get into snarling tussles over a treat or a piece of food.  Pulling them apart is only a matter of grabbing a collar or two.

But the other afternoon, a fight broke out over, as far as I could tell, nothing.  So, I had to get in there and separate them.  In the melee, I got a serious bite.  From Rupert, I think.  And it hurts like a mother.

It's swollen and interestingly colored and makes knitting very uncomfortably and short-lived.

You?