My mother never talked about her "ailments". She said no one was interested in hearing about them. And she certainly wasn't interested in hearing about anyone else's. The outcome was silence on issues of health when I was growing up. So my sister and I, independently, developed a tormenting mental dialogue on each health issue we developed. We still have that dialogue.
Ten weeks ago today, while vacationing in the Black Hills, I sat down in a chair lower than I expected. Two hours later my feet started tingling. I saw a chiropractor that day in Rapid City, drove home, and have continued to see my own chiropractor. He tells me a disc in my back is impinging on a nerve root - or something like that - and that nerves take a long time to heal. I have no pain in my back at all, but the sensations in my feet are prime subject matter for the dog on the bone in my mind. My feet are feeling much better than ten weeks ago, but they're not back to normal yet. Sitting triggers an increase in the sensation, and if I sit in a hard chair - like I did yesterday for two hours - my back/feet protest for nearly 24 hours. If I wear a shoe with an elevated heel - like my walking shoes - it feels like I have wet sand inside my socks.
All well and good. The body takes time to heal. And apparently an older body takes more time than a younger one. I had an SI joint injury several years ago that took seven months to heal.
Here's where the dog on a bone gets me in trouble. I think my back should be healing faster. I wonder what else it could be. Something terminal, maybe, that I should be seeing my GP for. Even though my rational mind knows the GP would say, "Well, we could order an MRI, but that would show what we already know - that you have a middle-aged back with some degenerative disc disease and a disc out of alignment that's pressing on the nerve root. And we could give you muscle relaxants - which wouldn't help, because the muscles aren't the problem - or Xanax so you wouldn't worry about your back." Which I wouldn't take.
So I don't go to the GP because I know what he will say. But what if he said something else?
What are the chances, do you think, that I would have a serious terminal issue in my back that showed up two hours after I sat in a too-low chair?
See how my mind works? I talked to my sister this morning. She reminded me, as I have reminded her in the past, that we go into the dangerous neighborhood of our minds when we haven't got enough drama going on in our lives.
So bring on the drama!
And when I go to my noon meeting today, I'll take the back-support cushion I bought last week for times when I'll be sitting in a hard chair. My sister reminds me our mother carried a cushion with her for the last 25 years of her life. I had forgotten.