Monday, July 24, 2006

Back Off

So I threw my back out yesterday. I'd love to say that my injury was the result of some heroic moving effort, say, like trying to carry a 50 lb. box down the stairs or moving some heavy piece of furniture. But no, this happened as result of reaching for a pen. Yes, you heard me right. I was reaching for a pen across the computer desk when I felt a sudden, excruciating ZING!, and I started to pass out from the pain. I know I'm not the world's most stoic woman, but when my hearing left me and my vision became blurry, I knew I was in for the worst.

This morning Steve basically carried me to the couch (how's his back now, I wonder?) and I stayed there all day. I went to the doc this afternoon and he gave me some Vicodin, which is why I'm able to sit here at the computer for a while.

What horrible timing. I could get really ticked off about this all, but what good would it do, really? I've been thinking about how I can remain productive in this state, but there are times when productivity just isn't going to happen. Didn't I just blog about our value coming not from how much we do, but from how much Christ loves us? Physician, heal thyself.

And take care of my back, while you're at it.


chelle said...

Oh, Dana. Times like this are like a two huge zits in the middle of your chest on your wedding day ( I know this literally from experience) A major eyesore (or in your case a back sore) during such an emotional and highly anticipated time.
Ok, maybe that is the most ridiculous analogy ever.

I hope your back heals promptly and somehow you can look back on this event and see God's purpose in allowing that pen to be just too far out of reach. Hang in there!

fig said...

Dana - lifting a pen? Where is your mountain-man background? Having been thru this myself I do have sympathy for you. (and Steve) Vicodin can be a good thing - only when needed. I highly endorse prescription medication. Fig RPh.

Dana said...

Ode to Vicodin:

PRN Vicodin
Is my friend
and then
I forget all kinds of important things,
And I don't care for it as much.

Whaddya think there, Fig? I think all kinds of poetry is waiting to be written to prescription medication...