So those of you who have come in any form of contact with me over the past 8 weeks are probably aware, that I have been suffering from chronic back pain over this time. It has not been pretty.
Back pain is a familiar foe to me - I was afflicted badly in my second year, after a vigorous game of squash I was left virtually crippled having pulled a muscle. I literally couldn't believe that pain as bad as it was could be a muscular problem, but it was. Although I was left unable to walk standing upright or at any great speed for a couple of weeks - highlights included 1) being overtaken by a Granny on the street; 2) receiving a text from a friend which went along the lines of "I just saw a little old lady walking along and it made me think of you" - I did recover and despite the odd twinge, have been largely unaffected since.
But now it's back (no pun intended), with a brutal and vicious vengeance. The motherfucker. If I had to characterise back pain at all, I would simply say that it is a vicious motherfucker.
It has lead me into some pretty unpleasant circumstances. For instance, I cried, at work. Now I loathe crying in public (by public I mean anyone who is not my immediate family), and usually I contain my crying until 2 or 3 AM, in my room, alone. But back pain, the motherfucker, caused me to cry at work. The HORROR. I am now feeling slightly better about this outpouring of emotion though as when I was telling a friend of mine about my tale of cringe he told me to "Stop being so ridiculously British, you are allowed to show emotions, you know? Jeez". SORRY. SORRY!
My most recent humiliation was in the past few days. My back has been well on the way to recovery, but clever me decided that spending 8 hours driving over 2 days and then going for a cycle ride was definitely a brilliant idea and now I am paying the price with an epic relapse. I'm talking only-doesn't-hurt-when-lying-on-the-floor kind of relapse. FUCK. So having spent the past 8 weeks moaning and waiting for physio I finally decided to go Chuck Norris on their (the NHS') arse...and call up and ask politely for an appointment. I got lucky, and was able to see a physio the next morning.
So, this is how I found myself. Unable to drive, or walk to the hospital I had to get to bus. It was too painful to sit down at the bus stop, so I had to lean against a piss stained part of Salisbury's standing next to a bin with half extinguished cigarettes blowing smoke into my face; but at least the pain was bearable. Oh, wait no it wasn't, the brief respite was over. Shuffling from side to side to try and ease it, shaking from both the pain and exertion of standing up, sweating and just generally feeling and looking miserable, I found myself thinking,
"This, this, is living."
