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Help! I've Fallen, And I Can't Get Up!




Well, dear reader, my weekend did not go as planned. I planned to spend the weekend cleaning, doing laundry, and painting The Bean's bedroom. Now that The Bean is fifteen, she wants a "cool teen hangout with a boho vibe." Everything is a vibe with my kid. I'm unsure if my vibe and her vibe actually vibe, but it's her room, and I am happy to give it a makeover. Giving her room a complete makeover is her birthday gift. Again, I am done buying her a bunch of stuff that will collect dust and clutter and eventually make me crabby because it is lying around collecting dust and cluttering my home.

 

The Bean wants neutral walls. Sigh. My kid is not a light-colored wall kind of kid. She touches stuff with her grubby little paws, leaves fingerprints on everything, drops and smears makeup everywhere, and spreads melted chocolate from Swiss Rolls like peanut butter on bread. I tried to discourage her from light walls, but alas, she is her mother's daughter, and once she gets an idea in her head, she is like a dog with a bone. We went to the new Ace Hardware on Philadelphia Street (my new favorite store), and she picked a color called Buttermilk Biscuit.

 

I planned to clean on Saturday, have The Bean clean her room, and then begin painting on Sunday. As is often the case, my weekend did not go as planned. Ever since I went off my arthritis medication cold turkey in the spring and summer of last year, I have been experiencing what feels like a never-ending flare of what I now know is psoriatic arthritis. Although I have been back on my medication for six months, I continue to experience symptoms. These include psoriatic lesions on my eyelids, lips, ears, and scalp, lower back pain, swelling joints, joint pain, and general fatigue. I'm doing much better than I was six months ago, but the symptoms are persistent and annoying. I told The Bibbed Wonder on Friday I felt like my back would go out. I believe I am experiencing a significant flare of symptoms, and this includes lower back pain. 

 

On Saturday, my back went out while I was moving furniture to clean under it. When my back goes out, my right leg turns numb, I have a painful hitch in my back, and I go down like a sack of potatoes. I lay on the floor for a while, waiting for the spasm to pass. However, it became clear after twenty minutes or so, this would not happen. I called to The Bean, who was upstairs, to ask her to help me up. When she came downstairs and saw me lying on the floor like a turtle stuck on its back, she got a little panicky and said, "I think we need to get Dad." Sigh, getting The Bibbed Wonder was what I was trying to avoid. I adore my husband, I really do, but there are times when his ability to turn everything into a joke makes me want to inflict physical harm upon his person. The Bean left me on the floor to run to the shop and get The Bibbed Wonder.

 

When he came down and saw me lying on the floor, his response was, "Oh, shit, buddy. This isn't good." If I hadn't been in excruciating pain, my response would have been, "No shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?" However, I refrained and merely said through gritted teeth, "Just help me up." He came and stood over me, looking down at me in bewilderment. The Bean did her nervous little prancing thing she does when she doesn't know what to do. Eric straddled me and thought he would pull me up. I told him I thought straddling me was only going to end with him being hit in the balls. Again, he stood and stared down at me like he was at a loss. I gave him my hand and said, "On the count of three, pull me up." He looked panic-stricken and said, "I don't want to hurt you." I told him I needed to get off the floor and into the recliner…across the room. The Bean began pushing the recliner to the middle of the room, so my walk wasn't as far.

 

I knew if I could get on my feet, I could make it to the chair. However, getting to my feet would be awkward at best and probably painful. After three false starts, I finally said, "Look, it's going to hurt, but it has to happen. On three, pull me up and help me roll over onto my knees." My husband reluctantly gave me his hand. I counted to three, and he pulled me up to the sitting position. I would have cried if it would not upset The Bean and The Bibbed Wonder. Instead, I gave a loud grunt, rolled onto my knees, and told The Bibbed Wonder to push as I tried to stand. I wish I had an aerial view when this was going on. I'm sure it looked like something from The Three Stooges. Once on my feet, I grunted and gimped to the recliner.

 

The Bean went on the hunt for a heating pad. After a few minutes, we remembered we had used it to warm up a baby goat last spring. We donated it to our kidding kit because it smelled like a baby goat. I did not want to smell like a baby goat, so I asked for ibuprofen instead. Without a pause, The Bibbed Wonder began making a list and asking for instructions. He asked where he could buy a heating pad. I told him the closest place would be the Rite Aid on 4th Street. He also picked up Icy Hot, Aspercreme, a massive bottle of ibuprofen, and a Cadbury Egg. He's a good man.

 

Once I was settled, I sat and let the heating pad work its wonders. I took a fistful of ibuprofen and a nibble of my Buds to Bloom's gummies to help me relax. I spent the rest of the day in the recliner, cooking my back meat on the highest setting of the heating pad, and dozed in and out of a THC-induced haze. I vaguely remember The Bibbed Wonder asking for accolades because he refrained from standing over me and passing gas in my face. He claims he never gets credit for not doing funny things. I believe my response was, "If you fart on me, I will castrate you." Apparently, he took this as a serious threat because there was no more talk of breaking wind in my general direction. Sigh.

 

This morning, dear reader, the comedy act at my expense has begun. He asked The Bean to help him roll me so I wouldn't develop bed sores. I have been in the same chair, in the same position, wearing the same clothes for two days. He's not entirely wrong, but he's rude. Now that I am moving around, he thinks it's funny and appropriate to randomly yell, "Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!" Sigh. He also commented that, once again, "Eric never gets credit for things he doesn't say. I refrained from making turtle jokes about you." As he walked out the door, he called, "Remember when we were young and you spending the weekend on your back was fun?" Sigh. His genitalia is in great jeopardy.  

 

Once I finish writing to you, I plan to gimp upstairs to take a shower. The rest of my day will be spent trying to accomplish everything I did not get done over the weekend, minus the painting. The Bean's furniture must be moved to the middle of the room, and I believe moving furniture is not in my best interest. Sigh. I will probably be subjected to more jokes. It's okay; I've succumbed to my lot in life. It's just how I live. Actually, it's hard to be annoyed with someone who drops everything to help me and brings me Cadbury Eggs. Although, one more random, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" may end with my husband's testicles on a platter. Sigh.

 

On this sunny, warm February day, stay safe, be smart, appreciate those who are there for you, and don't pass gas on people who are immobilized. It's best not to castrate your spouse; I believe there are laws against this. Also, keep washing your hands.  

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