The Pain in My Neck only Stops when the Pain in My Shoulder Kicks Up
I try not to whine.
When I was a kid, it didn’t pay to get sick or have a toothache. Nobody was going to take you to a doctor or dentist. Health insurance? Are you kidding? Tummy ache? Suck it up and don’t whine.
When I became a working woman, the magic of insurance gradually taught me that attending to differed from whining about. I was learning how to take care of myself. Toothache? Go to the dentist. Pain? Go to the you-name-it.
Sciatica? Doctor. Chiropractor. Acupuncturist. Ice. Heat. Rest. Massage. Yoga.
Stiff neck? Ditto.
Screaming shoulder? Ditto. (Add orthopedist.)
There’s a fixer for every kind of pain you can come up with. As a fully covered working woman, I was figuring out it doesn’t pay to suffer.
Now that I’m an elder, Dionne Warwick tells my story best. “I just don’t know what to do with myself.” Because the options for treating my pain increase with every visit to Dr. Google, while the episodes of actual pain-free-ness decrease.
Whenever an ache returns, the default is: my fault. I sit wrong. I move wrong. I eat wrong. I suck it up wrong.
To be fair to The Manufacturer of this body, I’m still operating with all my original parts, and the health folks chalk it up to my since-forever yoga practice. I figure, between yoga and walking, shoot, I’m home free. Stiff back? Nothing a few cat-cows can’t fix. Too much yard work? Legs up the wall. When I was sixty-five, I could do headstand, but tormented traps have put a stop to that. So nowadays, my aches and pains are affecting my yoga practice, instead of vice versa.
(Maybe I can increase the effectiveness of yoga, if I learn the Sanskrit names for all the poses.) (I mean asanas.)
I’ve been advised to listen to my body, but we speak different languages. My neck only hurts when I turn my head. Is my body saying don’t turn my head? Develop bigger eye muscles to increase my peripheral vision? Heat feels good. Ice feels good. But so does a sugar high. My body and I need a translator.
My translation for body screeches has always been, “Hey, fix me, girl.” What if the screeches can’t be fixed?
What if pain doesn’t speak English?
What’s my soul up to, when my shoulder’s hurting?
Maybe the screeches are questions, not demands.
The last time sciatica fired up, I noticed that it moved around. During the national news, it screamed from the middle of my leg, and then when we were binging on 30 Rock, it popped up closer to my knee. And while I was snort-laughing at Liz Lemon, sciatica fell silent.
Maybe my muscles knot up from the tension of me feeling responsible for the knots. Is it possible the default is: nobody’s fault?
Let me see what happens if I greet the pain with “how ya doin’” instead of “not you again.”
