Jo reflects: Injury, depression, getting a clue

Yeah, um. So. It's been a month. Sorry 'bout that.

If you read Head Nurse, you'll know that I have a well and truly jacked up neck at the moment. Recap: heavy lifting, big weeks at work, huge muscle spasm in back, non-functional left arm, scary intimations of damage to cervical discs, X-rays, massage, painkillers, new pillow, return of some function in left arm. MD's prohibition on doing *anything*, including walking on the treadmill, until the 21st of this month.

It's been a bad three weeks.

Working out consistently is a joy. Working out consistently also predisposes a body to depression and despair when that working out is taken away. The release of endorphins that happens after you get close to barfing during a cross-training session is gone; your body craves those endorphins like they're heroin (which, in a sense, they are, being very closely chemically related). When you've been training like a motherfucker and suddenly you're told not to do anything at all challenging, things suck hard very quickly. Combine that with searing pain and the fear of being permanently disabled, and you're in a bad headspace before you know it.

It's my own damn fault. I had been lifting heavier so that I could do more on my own at work, and doing more on my own because I had been lifting heavier. The injury I'm dealing with now is nothing more than an overuse syndrome. (For those who are curious, I have adhesions from hell in my shoulder muscles and rhomboids that are compressing a number of spinal nerves.) A combination of a new pillow and very expensive, very effective massage has left me free of pain, though I still can't lift my arm above my shoulder.

For now, the depression that came along with not training is lifting. I no longer feel like standing in front of the mirror and cataloging all the ways my body is going to hell. I start myofascial release treatments today (picnic!), and expect to be back to *light* weight training and cardio by the end of the month. Meanwhile, all I have to deal with is boredom.

I'm not joking when I say my doc banned all physical activity for three weeks. I can't weed the garden, vacuum (although I have; the cost-benefit analysis of cat hair balls versus nerve damage came down heavily on the side of not choking on dust bunnies), lift patients, bend over, flip my bangs out of my eyes, or turn sharply from one side to another. I am prohibited entirely from working out or even walking the dog. I am not allowed to trot, let alone run. Because, let's face it, the consequences of a high spinal injury are nasty, I have mostly adhered to these prescriptions.

For now, I'm okay. I'm working to be better than okay, but it's going to be a while. Recovering from this most basic injury to a very sensitive system is going to require that I get over being Superwoman and swallow my pride (more on that in a later post). I'm going to actually, you know, have to ask for help. I'm going to have to learn a different way of working out than just balls-to-the-wall all the time.

*sigh*

Meanwhile, I'm thankful it wasn't any worse. Yes, I have a muscle knot in my left rhomboid that is approximately the size and shape of a bratwurst, but it's fixable. I'm not dealing with a paralyzed arm for the rest of my life. I got really freaking lucky in that; apparently, the vertebrae in my spine could've been pulled out of alignment by the muscle spasm, it was so bad.

More on all of this later. Charlotte over at GFE has been in my head this week, so I've got some thoughts on psychologically-loaded fitness-related goals. For now, though, it's ice and rest and maybe a bowl of soup.