millionreasons | Tell me where it all went wrong

My back problems continue. Except it’s not my back, it’s my hips, bum and thighs that hurt. Yesterday I crawled on the strong comforting arm of my strong comforting boyf to the Doctor for an emergency appointment to explain that I could no longer sit down because I can’t get up again. Usually I’m an earth goddess about health, being of the opinion that too many drugs are necked when prevention would be better than cure (i.e. cranberry juice instead of anti-biotics, yoghurt not canesten, prunes not laxative chemicals, St Johns Wort rather than Prozac) but as soon as I am in any sort of pain that idea flies out of the window. The doctor was kind enough to explain that I was having a muscle spasm on my sciatic nerve which was protecting my spine, and I was like: “Whatever, just give me some fucking drugs now!” I now have diazepam and some rhino-strength anti-inflammatories. I was in to see th doctor straight away but then it was a half an hour wait in the Pharmacy which was staffed by a) a young woman who didn’t know what neuralgia was and b) a middle-aged man who chuckled to David: “I hope you’ve not been knocking her about.” Domestic violence, always a laugh, innit.

The worst thing about being in pain is not the pain but the incapacity that comes with it. David having to lift me off the toilet is pretty gross for both of us. As mentioned above, I am hopeless with hurt and I become (even more) maudlin and self-pitying and start to imagine myself as an debilitated 80 year old unable to do anything for myself. At the first sign of life-threatening illness I’d be off to Switzerland for my euthanasia. I like to pretend that my increasing age doesn’t matter and so to feel infirmity and mortality creeping up on me is vile.

My parents are down to watch Andy Murray crash out of Wimbledon, and were very helpful, not only in providing a freezing spray but in telling me that people with narrow spines are more likely to suffer back pain (reasons help me deal). Anyway I need to stop typing now, as I can’t sit down for more than 10 mins.

Just time to admire the wonderful song on the Camera Obscura album called If Looks Could Kill. Holland Dozier Holland woulda killed to write this song. Martha Reeves shoulda bitten off Berry Gordy’s hand to sing it. Berry coulda released it if sullen Glaswegians in the 21^st Century had been his thing. The Funk Bros would have been dancing around the studio. I can hear ghostly shoobi-do-wa’s sung by the Supremes in glittery dresses and evening gloves in the background.

Pity the rest of the album is country-tinged slow substance.