Chronic Pain Diaries VII

I wouldn’t say I’m the sort of person to put things off, but really, when it comes down to it, I am. I put off making wedding decorations until the last minute. I put off sending in my Student Loan repayment information. I have been putting off getting a drivers license since… well, I guess at least ten years now. I don’t mean to put things off. I think I just have one of those minds where the best intentions become very quickly overshadowed by other things. New ideas for books, character development, shiny things, is that a popcorn kernel stuck between my teeth? I get distracted by the little things in life because, and I say this with no shame whatsoever, the little things are what get me through the day.

I’ve been putting off making an appointment with my surgeon, my “Once a year check-up” for about nineteen months. Close enough, in case anyone is counting. It wasn’t because I was busy. Far from it. My health is a major priority in life and I would have easily been able to make the necessary phone call had I not been utterly terrified about what the results might be.

I try not to think about the fact that my lower back is on the cusp of needing surgical intervention. To think that I am one degree away from surgery. A single degree of change, the slightest movement, could lead to my spine being thoroughly and utterly fused for all eternity. At least until they discover some sort of spine-acid which cleverly devours specific parts of bone, thus freeing my from my calcified cage and allowing me to bend so I may tie my shoes while standing once more.

Oh, to dream.

One degree makes all the difference, and given that over the last few years it hasn’t jumped from 49 to 50 degrees, you’d think I’d be fairly confident. My spine is perhaps the only area in which I am a doomsday believer. I notice aches and pains and clicks and grinds that weren’t there a year ago. I notice that when I lay flat on the floor my body contorts as if my lower half is trying to run right, and my upper half is trying to escape to the left. And damnit, it hurts.

So I made the call to the good doctor and booked the appointment. January 8th. It now looms like some sort of prophecy. Behold, the woman of positivity shall be fused from tip to toe. Maybe if I pretended my life was directed by more awesome prophecies I wouldn’t feel so uncertain about it. Still, I can’t help but feel as if this is the time. This will be the appointment. This will be the one degree.

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