You know what hurts? Sciatica.
You know what really hurts? SPD.
You know what SPD is? Let me give you a quick description.
It’s when your crotch falls apart.
There are more detailed descriptions and “real life stories“on the internet, obviously, but seriously, SPD or Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, is pretty much your crotch saying “Hi there! You know how joints and stuff move around? Well I’d like to do that too please. In fact, I’m going to move the left side of your pelvis, but make the right side stay in exactly the same place. Which shouldn’t happen. Watch this! YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT.”
Only, that’s bull shit. Because you’re NOT gonna love it. It’s fucking bull shit.
In fact, it’s not even fucking. Because sometimes even the pain of trying to straddle your own knickers is quite similar to being hit in the crotch.
I am speaking from experience.
So, fucking isn’t going to be high on the list of Things I Want To Do.
I think, I think I could cope with the pain of sciatica alone. I can tolerate wanting to let out a blood curdling, ear piercing scream every time I feel razor sharp pain shoot from near my armpits down to my toes, but not actually screaming. I could manage the days when I pretty much can’t feel my toes, or when I’ve got pins and needles from my toes right up to my knees. Sometimes, I could even laugh when I walk a few steps, and then my hip does something a bit weird and I know that if I take another step I’ll most likely be paralized for maybe 15 seconds (which is a reeeeeeally long time when Isaac has finished pooping on the potty and you really don’t want him to stand up and hoik up his pants just yet).
But combined with SPD, that sensation of repeatedly being hit in the crotch with something like, oh I dunno, I baseball bat, or that moment when you’re cycling away and suddenly break a little too hard and slide forward off your seat onto the bar…yeah that’s no fun.
Now, I have of course been to the doctor. I went shortly after both children, and after Isaac was born, I even had scans, additional physio and sessions with an osteopath. And in true form, I just know that if I go back to the doctor, they won’t detect anything because I will suddenly not be in any pain at all when I walk through the door, and as soon I leave, the pain will return with renewed strength.
LAW. OF. SOD.
Of course, I’m a stubborn ass anyway, so it’s most likely going to get to the point where I’m crawling around on all fours before I decide to seek help. What’s the point, anyway? Same thing as ever will happen. I’ll go to get help, they’ll either prescribe drugs I don’t want to take (alcohol is the way to go, not drugs). Or, they’ll put me on some tedious waiting list. The waiting list will be either for injections (DO NOT WANT), physio (will happen once a month, would need it every day), or an operation. On my back. Possibly on my discs. Uuuhhhhhhh nah you’re alright thanks. My walking may be restricted right now, but I sure as hell like the movement I currently have.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll stick my Heelys back on, and show people that we should be born with wheels on our feet, because then we could just move, without actually having to do anything. I think it’s easy to see the awesomeness in that plan, totally. Way better than a wheelchair, I’m sure of it.
Or, maybe I’ll just stick this shit out and see how things are in a month or two. What do we want? Procrastination!!! When do we want it? Yeah I’ll come back to you later on that, I think…