That’s what my body said to me last Tuesday morning.
The dogs started whining and barking. I tried to fling my feet off the side of the bed and sit up.
I still can not tell you what I did in the days before that morning that would cause that pain.
I bullied through on Tuesday, took my oldest to work, took the girls to play rehearsal, and attempted cooking and some light cleaning.
On Wednesday, I laid in bed. Rest would fix it, right?
On Thursday, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had tried everything. Ice, heat, baths, oils, Motrin, Aleve, rest, walking (slowly).
I headed in to the local walk-in clinic and gave in to my need for medical intervention.
I was sent home with glorified ibuprofen and predisone, along with a stack of printed exercises for me to do in a few weeks.
The doctor said I strained my lower lumbar. Whatever.
Maybe I did, but I have no idea how it happened. The most I had done in days was to walk around our property. I didn’t fall, or slip, or jump, or anything even remotely physical.
It would seem, however, that after a certain age, if your body wakes you up and screams “STOP LADY AND SIT YOUR BUTT DOWN!” you should probably listen. It’s been almost a week and I’m still not 100% yet.
I’m up, and I did manage to tackle the dishes and some laundry. I am enlisting help from smaller people. They were dragging their feet but have finally figured out they are only getting food and clean undies if they get up and help.
Does your house fall apart a little when mom is down for the count? Tell me I’m not the only one!