Ma had this thing she’d say whenever something bad was going on. It didn’t matter what the bad thing was – her health, her finances, The Old Man’s incorrigible ways, all the stuff that kept her up at night scratching her head with worry. It mattered not. If it was really bad, she’d say, “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
Last summer, I found myself saying that a lot when sciatic nerve pain disrupted my life so rudely and thoughtlessly. I reached out on social media to see if anyone else had experienced this (because misery truly does love company), and if so, what treatments were helpful. I was deeply moved by the response to my pathetic plea for advice, suggestions, therapy recommendations and of course, drugs. All the well wishes, thoughtful and kind words gave me hope. And trust me, there were days when I was crumpled in a hopeless heap of desperate despair. I cried, screamed, howled, caterwauled and swore like a drunken sailor. It was not pretty.
I felt old, tired, and broken. And months later, there are days when I still do.
During those early weeks of July, while the sun was shining and the birds were singing in the beautiful blue sky above, I had five acupuncture treatments, two cupping experiences, two osteopathic therapy sessions, many chiropractic manipulations, plus, regular deep tissue massages. I watched countless exercise and physio videos and practiced all my gentle restorative yoga poses, in particular cat cow and figure four. I applied ice and heating pads. I rubbed on every cream and ointment for pain that the drug store sells and one roller that Eric picked up at the pot store. I slathered myself in essential oils and soaked in hot tubs filled with Epsom salts made with lavender and CBD. I consumed an Advil-Tylenol cocktail like clockwork. When I wasn’t working, I laid around a lot. On the couch, the yoga mat, the tub, the bed. Repeat.
Everything helped. A bit. But in the end, it was the chiropractic treatments and deep tissue massage combo that helped me the most. I’ve talked to other sciatica sufferers and different treatments helped them. Different strokes for different folks.
Back in July, when I was still in the throes of agony and utter wretchedness, but had had a few treatments from the list above, there were some days I could almost stand upright for two to three seconds. WowWee. But mostly I hobbled around bent over at a 90-degree angle which made my lower back stiff. Yeah, so that was great. One time, I crawled like a baby from the bathroom to my office. I hadn’t done that in decades. It was an interesting perspective. I noticed the floors were dirtier than I realized since I couldn’t run a vacuum. And I binge-watched Chicago Med every evening after work. I learned a thousand ways to end up in an Emergency Room on life support. Probably wasn’t the most uplifting show to watch while feeling like shit.
One piece of advice that a few people suggested was to write a letter to my Sciatica or to write about my pain. Disclose it. Reveal it so I could release it. I found this notion intriguing, so I wrote a letter. It went like this:
Dear Sciatica,
Fuck off.
Love,
Boo
