With my hands. That's what my dad would say when I asked him. I said it myself this morning. The verdict on my shoulder is that I have most likely torn the rotator cuff and will need surgery. I will need an MRI first to confirm the diagnosis.
So, while I wait for my insurance that is supposed to start next month, I have a new regimen for pain control. I took the Flexeril last night to relax all those muscles that are tight and painful. I slept pretty good, but my shoulder was aching when I woke. Stands to reason, since the drug is no longer in my system. But, He Who Cares, was amazed that I did not feel all better. I took a pill, I did not have surgery. Nothing has been fixed. So, no, I don't feel better.
Coffee has tempered my attitude. I confess that I am not really pleasant in the morning until I have that first cup. Then I carefully counted my pills to make certain I will have enough until the insurance arrives. I count things. I calculate. I worry. I wonder if I should withhold the blessed relief contained in that bottle ..... anticipating that the proof of insurance may not arrive before I run out. Then I wonder if I will damage my liver or kidneys with the Tylenol and the Ibuprofen I am swallowing.
I took the Tramadol, throwing caution to the winds. I am tired of the pain and want to feel normal again. I did not realize just how miserable I was until I took that first dose.
I now sit here sipping my coffee with an ice pack on my shoulder and wait for the pain to ease. I wonder what people did before they could diagnose and repair this particular injury. Like I wonder about how they washed clothes in the winter when all they had was a creek and a rock. He Who Cares says I wonder about too many things ........ is this just a nice way to tell me I talk too much?