A ticket to procrastination, via hypochondria

Writing may not seem like a physical job. We're not lifting heavy weights, tis true, unless you count the weight of words. We're not tossing cabers, or standing on our feet all day. But that's not to say that there are not side-effects to the job. Work injuries, so to speak.

Fortunately, the big item, the paper cut, is fewer and farther between these days. I'm still surrounded by a sea of paper, but that's more just my inefficient filing systems than anything work-related. But that day-to-day horror that is the sore neck and shoulders shows no sign of abating.

Today I went to see my physio. I've been putting it off for, oh, six or so months. Mostly because his last name involves beating people up (seriously) and that's pretty much how I feel when I leave. Not his fault. No. He tells me it's my fault for leaving it too long between visits.

Our conversations go like this:

Phyiso: "Where does it hurt?"

Me: "Here, here, here - oh, and here."

Physio: "Okay, let's cut to the chase. Where doesn't it hurt?"

Ha.

Moments later:

Me: "Ow. No, really ow. This is hurting me much more than it's hurting you."

Physio: "True. I live for this stuff."

Good grief.

Having prodded all my trigger points and wrapped me in ice for 20 minutes, he declared me ready to leave. He sat opposite me, in his shorts (have you ever met a physio who was a fan of the full-length trouser?), face serious, and proceeded to lecture me on how I need to take better care of myself and - and here was the pay-off moment of the whole visit - embrace hypochondria.

"Take it seriously," he said. "Stop at the first sign of pain. Walk away from the computer. Take a break."

So there you have it people - a ticket to procrastination.

[image: hobbiesfromtheheart/etsy via (nay, because of) Maxabella)

Trigger points and therapy

Today was my first physio session after the car accident. Can I just say ‘ouch’? I would say more than that, but then my blog would find itself slapped with an R rating for violence (of swearing), language and adult concepts (I should put it where?).

In short, while I am fine, I am hurting. Muscles that are supposed to just quietly go about their business holding me upright and allowing me to type (and be appalling at tennis) were rudely flung into a parallel universe – and they are protesting.

This is not a pity party (though feel free to share your concern about my wellbeing in the comments section). I repeat, I am fine, and I’m well aware that there are many people in the world much worse off than me. But being in pain has focussed my thoughts. With pin point accuracy.

My physio used ‘trigger point’ therapy on me today. What that showed me was that a muscle hurting down around my ribs can refer pain to my ears. Yes, my ears. The outside of my ears.

Ears don’t hurt. They just sit on the side of your head – never considered unless they’re too big and you spend your entire life making sure your hair covers them. Until today. When something hurts, it’s incredibly difficult to think about anything else but how much it hurts.

I know that there are people who live with chronic pain every day. They get through their lives with their ears (or equivalent) hurting. I never realised how much that underlying soreness drains your energy. It’s not just that you hurt, it’s that you hurt and you want to be lying in a darkened room. Eyes closed. In peace.

As opposed to playing Lego in a room full of people with the TV on.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve hurt before. But you know how it is with pain – as soon as it’s over, you can’t remember what it felt like. And while you’ve got it, you think it will never end. Just ask any mum to describe childbirth. She can’t. Not really.

The good news is that this too shall pass. I have more physio (aka torture) sessions to endure, but at some point my neck muscles will stop feeling that they gave to grip as tightly as a baby koala. At which point, I shall resume my tennis career.

You have been warned.

{image: Ferdinand Von Reznicek/art.com}