Steroids, a corset and poor old me.

I am pleased to report that 22 hours on from the administering of steroids to my back, I am neither Fatima Whitbread nor Brian Blessed.  I was a big brave girl and despite 9 needle holes, I didn’t cry, swear or hit anyone.  Didn’t get a lollipop or sticker, but these are tough economic times in the NHS.

The diagnosis, having spent an hour with an eccentric Greek orthopaedic surgeon is that I have a herniated disc.  THAT explains why I have been in tremendous pain for some time.  It may have started as sacroiliitis and definitely gave me symptoms of sciatica but the root cause was that one of the little suckers has escaped.

So, what are these discs?  Well, kids, long before Apple came along, we had these big round shiny things that played music.  Oh, wait, you mean spinal discs.  I have learned that between each of your vertebrae there are little cushions which act as shock absorbers when you move around.  One of mine, in my lower back, has escaped and is pressing down on to my spinal nerves.  Hence, the leg pain, numb toes, breathtaking gasps for air and general intense misery.  It’s now clear that when the (ahem) ‘helpful’ doctor’s receptionist refused me an appointment and told me to take paracetamol and try not to lift my toddler…..she deserved every ounce of venom that I communicated to her via the medium of a death stare.  It bloody hurts, like nothing I have ever felt before and in that I include childbirth.

In addition to my 9 new needle holes from my back down to my feet, I am on 3 types of medication and wearing a ‘corset’.  Not a heaving-bosom-ooh-Mr-Darcy corset.  Not a Dita-von-Teese-burlesque corset.  Oh no, this is 23 quid’s worth of beige, complete with splints and velcro.  Nice.  Basically, it resembles a cheap sausage skin.

I have new methods to get in and out of bed, am not allowed to lift heavy things or do anything adventurous.  Like unloading the dishwasher.  I’ve temporarily retired from running and not allowed any physio/osteo/chiro type treatment.  As I’m in much worse of a state than we thought, I have to go down the medical route for now.

Thankfully, the worst of the pain has diminished with the numbing effect of the steroid injections but in a way I now have to be even more careful as it’s all too easy to think “yay, I’m better because it doesn’t hurt like hell”.  But, it’s a long way from fixed yet.

Of course, the worst part of all of this and the bit that has me in floods of tears is that my beautiful girl is having to stay with her grandparents for a few days and I miss her terribly.  It doesn’t feel normal to have Mummy & toddler separated.  Am trying to make the most of the time alone but the truth is, I’m hating it.

I’m sure that anyone who has made it to the bottom of this blog post will be thoroughly bored of my moaning and poor-me chat.  So, feel free to ignore me for a bit, it’s fine.  This is purely a cathartic exercise and one which will pass some time as I sit here in bed, at a 45 degree angle, corseted and bored out of my tiny mind.

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