Monday 16th April – Stretching for a component part of the chiminea I was constructing, I tweaked my back this morning. The building of the fire pit not a particularly onerous task in itself, however the recurring twinges post-tweak made it a fairly uncomfortable undertaking.
Akin to smaller aftershocks that can cause further disruption after an earthquake, I experienced a number of smaller spasms in the lower part of my back following it’s initial more powerful twinge. My self-inflicted injury didn’t register on the Richter Scale, so my house thankfully remains intact.
It’s the second time in around six months I’ve had lower back problems. Around September last year I was afflicted by similar discomfort while stretching for the post on the hallway floor. The irony of injuring myself reaching for being my annual BUPA health insurance schedule was not lost on me.
These fleeting pains in the back are a metaphorical pain in the arse. If I was experiencing constant discomfort the injury would at least be persistently in the forefront of my conscious mind. Consequently, being always aware of the wound I’d adjust my movements and lifestyle accordingly.
Unfortunately, with the lumbar soreness ebbing and flowing, I keep forgetting I’ve an injury that needs TLC, resulting in me not tempering my manoeuvres to compensate for this. As such, I’m sporadically causing myself recurring muscular discomfort.
My spouse provided little in the way of sympathy when I told her my lower back hurt every time I stretched for stuff. She just looked coldly into my eyes and responded “Well stop reaching for stuff, you idiot!”
Seeking solace from the pain, along with attempting to gain an understanding of the root cause of these recent recurring injuries, I booked an appointment with my GP. I was particularly keen to ascertain how I could ease this recurring annoyance.
After I explained my current medical plight, He sat for a few seconds before patronisingly responding “It’ll help stop reaching for stuff, you idiot!”
Before I left my doctor’s surgery he asked me “Does your back hurt if you extend your arms above your head?”
“No….. Why does that help with your diagnosis, doc?” I queried, hoping I might be getting closer to the root cause of my affliction.
“No….. I need my surgery windows cleaning!” came his less than helpful response.
Despondent at the lack of help forthcoming from the GP, I urged “Can you give me something to help, please?”
He reacted by reaching into his pocket, handing me a £10 from his wallet before informing me “There you are, lad….. You should have enough there for a bucket, sponge and wash leather.”
“No I meant for my pain for stretching, doc!” I tried desperately to clarify.
“Ah…. I’ve got what you mean now, lad.” came the medical man’s retort as the penny finally dropped. Reaching for his prescription pad, he at last jotted down something to mitigate my pain. On putting his pen down, he tore of the prescription from the pad, handing it to me. His medical script bore the words ‘Stop reaching for stuff, you idiot’.
