Just Like Paradise

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.

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