I've been above average tired for the last week. Not job and kids sapping my energy tired like usual. I mean, someone sapped my will to live tired.
Sunday, the right side of my back starting hurting. Monday I became convinced my watch was giving me headaches everyday. I also blamed a chair for my increasingly stiff neck. Tuesday, I became suspicious of my shoes. I also decided I needed a new bra. Wednesday my hair was in a rubber band pony tail by noon and my shirt was untucked by 2:00. The wheels were officially coming off the bus. I told my boss I was heading home before I took out any pedestrians. It was a public service really. I'm pretty sure I deserve a medal.
I've been alternating hot and cold and barely scraped together enough energy to come downstairs for dinner last night. Pretty sure my husband got tired of me texting him from our bedroom, too. Especially when the texts are essentially, "Why are you in any other room in this house when you should be laying next to me listening to me complain endlessly?"
Today, I've been sitting on a heating pad. I also dragged myself to the doctor so they could tell me they don't know what the hell's wrong with me. There was a urine sample, I repeated my list of random symptoms like twelve times and then they decided to give me a shot of antibiotics in the gluteus and call it a day.
In my opinion, nurses must get a big kick out of announcing that's where the shot goes. You know, watching the patient's face while they translate gluteus into "butt." I know I repeated the word like a parrot and then chuckled. Wish I could have seen my face. In fact, nurses should announce that stuff while wearing a giant mirror on a chain around their neck like a Flavor Flav kinda clock so losers like me can see their face when the light bulb in our brain realizes there's going to be some bending over going on. I don't need video of the bending over though. I'd prefer to let that just live in my memory.
And then I limped back to my car and came back home to my heating pad. And the internet. Two minutes ago I was on the Beachbody website trying to decide if I should try P90X or Insanity. Me and my sore gluteus that barely made it up the stairs. And after the sore gluteus managed to make it to the bed and laid down, I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. It's been an hour and the sore gluteus is still refusing to get back up to make the 10 foot trek to the restroom. And yet, I'm under the impression I need to drop cash on a set of super intense workout DVDS. Makes perfect sense.
The nurse with the big needle suggested that I try walking around to help the medicine get distributed through my body faster which will make my butt stop hurting. My husband's quick distribution suggestion was that I sit cross legged and then lay back still cross legged and roll back and forth on my back. I didn't realize he left hidden cameras running in our house when he left for work this morning. There is no other logical explanation for that suggestion. Doesn't mean I'm not going to attempt to cram myself in that position. Just means I'm suspicious of that man.
|My 7 year old's suggestion for how to get the medicine distributed. Nice touch doing the demo without a shirt.|
Apparently the sore gluteus also deserved to carry around a jumbo box of Flavor Blasted Cheddar Goldfish crackers for 2 days periodically grazing on them. Not sure why I get to blame the entire 2 days on a shot that wasn't even on the horizon until today. Just pretty sure the sore gluteus deserved them and that it's better not to analyze it too much.
Excuse me while I get back to surfing the net for more crap I don't need.