21 June 2008
I've got a bad back. Well, a bad shoulder, really. Or maybe a bad neck. It's hard to tell.
The root cause of the problem appears to be in my neck, but it's my back and shoulder which feels the pain and stiffness. And the pain is sometimes unbearable, especially after sleeping.
I've done it before and it clears up within a week, but obviously it's susceptible to a return. And that's what happened - I made the daft mistake of trying to take a photograph in France while approaching some stone steps. I thought I'd negotiated where the step was as I looked through the camera lens at something interesting - and my foot slipped.
I clung on to the railing at the side of the step and broke my fall, and stood up seemingly hurt only in the pride area. But the day wore on and the back started to howl at me.
A Boots version of Ralgex has been liberally applied over the last few days. The Natural Blonde, herself with back trouble that sees her regularly visiting a French-Canadian chiropractor with a large bow tie, has half-killed me with massage. I've had the type of paradox pain, the exquisite torment, which has made me beg for a lady in high heels to stamp up and down on me as I lay flat out on the floor, screaming.
It's 9.30 on Saturday morning as I type this, almost a week after the original step/camera misjudgement. It was slightly easier getting out of bed than recent days and I think I've found out why.
Last thing last night I walked the Bassets. Two on an adjoining lead, two on separate leads. The pullers, Ruby and Boris, I kept in my left hand as much as I could and the force of their excitement seemed to snap a couple of things in my stricken shoulder. It might not be scientific, it might be coincidence, but it's worked so far. Pet therapy can do wonderful things, including easing the muscular strains of their clumsy ageing daddy.
When I next have to sneeze, or when someone makes me laugh a lot, that'll be the key test.