My life has been reduced to pain patches, pain pills, muscle relaxers, hot water bottles, ice packs, moaning and groaning, and wishing I'd never gotten a personal trainer. I injured my right shoulder, had surgery, did more damage lifting free weights, had surgery, damaged shoulder again when a bunch of crab grass pulled back when I pulled first.
Now I have a frozen shoulder. I've tried to soldier on but the pain is encroaching on my joy. It's affecting my quality of life. It's taking control of my pen. When the muscles in my arm spasm, my pen skitters across the page like it's possessed. Writing is a struggle. So if you get mail with my name on it, but the handwriting looks odd, I promise you it's from me.
I'm forced to spend most of my time on the sofa or in bed. But I take my little mail bag with me. Pain made me switch mail bags. Mama's got a brand new bag! It's filled with paper, notecards, postcards, an assortment of pens, stamps, and mail that needs answering. I write when I have blocks of lucid moments. The pain pills + muscle relaxers make me sleep. So, if you get mail with drool on it, please note: I wiped things down with an alcohol wipe before sealing. No need to worry about germs.
Yesterday was the first time I didn't take my Moanday Mail Bag for a ride to the post office. Thank goodness for holidays. A bunch of mail went out today. And wouldn't you know it, I overlooked two letters and two postcards. Postcards are easier for me right now. I can't get a steroid and pain injection because there's no one to drive me home after it's done. So, until JC comes home for the weekend, I hope you won't mind notes and postcards. I could sit here and peck with my left hand, print the pecked letter, do the same with an envelope, and slap on a stamp. But it just doesn't seem right. I will reply directly from your letters and cards just as I love doing it . . . By hand.
Things should be better by next week. I will have seen the orthopedic specialist by then, or we'll be on top of the pain, the pinched nerve, and the swelling. Until then . . . Write on!