The old David Lee Roth tune comes to mind this morning, yet it is antithetical to how I’m feeling since Thursday’s Remicade infusion.
This visit ended with a twist of sorts as my hips were injected with steroids in an effort to curb some of the pain. Instead, at least for now, they are stiff and achy; it is reminiscent of having to chisel and pry and hammer a worn out strut. (I am no mechanic, so any repair I make involves pry bars and hissy fits.
As soon as I complete my shift at work, I’ll be back in bed like the past couple of days. This is only a bonus from my typical searing pain in my lower spine. My upper spine feels like it has been contorted by a gorilla. I think farmers give their sick horses better treatment when they lead them out to a pasture, gun in hand. And no, I’m not implying anything as I’m against euthanasia. I’m not above whining, though.
I’ve been feeling pretty horrible the past six weeks or so. I have had my share of hiding in the bedroom. I’m just frustrated today.
(Cue DLR) — THIS MUST BE JUST LIKE LIVING IN PARADISE.