“…There will be no more…crying or pain…” Rev. 21:4
I’d like to introduce you to my two new best friends. Say “Hello” to Mr. Heating Pad. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. He’s soft, warm, and doesn’t talk too much. Not exactly a bosom-buddy; more like a butt-buddy. In fact, we’ve been together so much lately, you could say we’re attached at the hip. My second friend is not as soft, but always seems to come through when I’m really hurting. Meet Ms. Ibuprofen. I always seem to feel better when she’s around.
It all started the day after Christmas, when, without any warning, I awoke to pain only a champion bull rider should experience the day after being thrown to the ground by a black bull named Tornado. But, instead of riding a bull on Christmas Day, something even more horrific happened to me. I got older. In spite of my best efforts to act like a kid at Christmas, my body wasn’t buying it.
The reality of getting older is the pain we’re feeling today, was actually caused by something we did many years ago. I remember my grandfather saying one day, “If I’d known I’d be living this long, I’d taken much better care of myself.” At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. Now, his message is painfully clear.
So, here’s a partial list of the injuries I’ve endured over the years. There was the groin injury in my twenties, the result of an overzealous aerobics instructor. And, then there’s the professional masseuse, so impressed with my flexibility that she lifted my left leg next to my right ear. I found out later she was a scout for the Cirque D’ Soleil. After that, there was the skiing accident. The first of many skiing accidents. It was the first day of our vacation and happened on Robert Redford’s lovely Sundance Ski Resort. I should have stayed home and watched The Way We Were on video, instead. Fortunately, I’d only torn a few ligaments or tendons in my knee, a mere flesh wound. So, no surgery was necessary.
My husband, in his infinite wisdom, decided to go on another ski trip the following year. This time I was able to enjoy the trip, except for the last night. He decided he wanted to go night-skiing. I have trouble skiing in the daytime, so don’t know what he was thinking. Falling off at the beginning of the ski lift should have been my first clue. But no, I had to get back on and try again. This time, I rode to the top of the mountain alongside a rookie snowboarder. We both made it off the lift, then, Wham! She slammed me into a wall, where I heard the sickening sound of my knee snapping. The trip wasn’t a complete bust, though. I got to ride in a bone-sled pulled by ski patrol going a hundred miles per hour down a snow-covered mountain at night. I was strapped in so tight, thankfully, all I could see was the stars flying by as we made our way down the length of the ski run. The highlight was being shoved through the square in the door of the emergency building just big enough for the bone sled to fit through. I now know what a pizza feels like being slid off a paddle and into a brick oven, except I was freezing.
Which brings me back to today’s pain. Evening is when the pain gets worse. I start moaning like Randy on Christmas Story when faced with eating a plate of meatloaf. Know what, Randy, I’ll trade ya’.