My stomach flutters awkwardly butterless..this is fear like a horror movie; MY life....
|I have waited through about 16 years of back pain, caused by the way I've lived my life. I'm 5 feet, 10 and 1/2 inches tall, and acted like I was Wonder Woman for too many instances in my life. When one is tall and carries ample weight, even a feminine frame can handle heavily weighted objects.|
Too many were too heavy. And, I'll admit, sometimes I was showing off. Sometimes I had to move, say furniture, without the help of another person. In my late 40's, my back became a nagging aggravationvation that my now has accelerated to acute disabling discomfort. Mostly, I recline. When I admitted to my Pain Management doctor that I was developing almost bed sores from my daily routine, he helped me realize the time for surgery was NOW. Now, is in 12 days.
The Neurosurgeon helped me decide to attack the painful stenosis in my neck, although my lower back (lumbar) causes me more constant and nagging pain. Spinal stenosis-where the spine interior closes up, preventing nerve impulses and consequential physical activity-- is bad at the neck area (cervical lumbar discs) because impulses missing affect your ability to make your hands do what your brain says. I'm a writer. I'd have a heck of a time without use of my hands on a keyboard, or with a pen should I fancy practicing my calligraphy.
The best paying job I ever had, economic evolution not considered here, was when I was THE bookkeeper for an apartment complex with 1,024 units. I was good at my job, and a computer prevented predictable errors. Since I was in my mid thirties, I was proud of my level of responsibility--and the pay check that went with it. But I pressured myself. With roommates, multiple money orders, payments without apartment numbers, I sat alone with my work and my radio and deposited like the Super Bookkeeper, especially at the first of the month. No grace period at that Houston apartment complex in 1980. I explained that as well as the manager many times. Three builders owned the complex they had built in the late 1970's, and it was a classy kinda place for reasonable money. I liked it, except when Mr. Jimmy Hill, one of the owners, would come by and watch me write deposit slips. I raised occupancy to 100%. I evicted those without funds. I eventually quit, going back to teaching, as a new complex was going to open soon, built to a very up-scale clientele. I was afraid they were going to offer me the job of manager, and I questioned my ability to do that kind of job around really rich people.
That apartment complex ate up a couple of years of my life. I watched the Sharpstown fireworks from my work window on the Fourth of July. At Christmas and New Years' I worked, telling myself I'd play some other year. I discovered that lots of holidays happen near the first of the month.
The muscle that I used while right-handedly physically used my pen to fill out deposit slips became seriously debilitated during that time. Try it. Pick up a pen, write with the pressure of time as well as the need to make the carbon paper legible on the triplicate deposit slip copy, continue for two or three years, and you have created yourself a physical problem that will shadow you the rest of your life.