Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I'm on a swing. I go forward and I go back, forward and back. In perpetual motion.

I have a bad back. It hurts, so I take painkillers. I feel queer, so I stop taking them. My back hurts, so I take painkillers.

Forward and back, forward and back.

At no point can I jump off the swing and feel like myself again. I either feel detached, disconnected and fuzzy or I feel excruciating pain. There's no middle ground. No balance.

I'm tired, but I can't relax. I rarely sit down. I can't get comfortable in bed. All I can do is walk, keep moving. Walking helps. I walk around the house in the morning to loosen up. I walk around the bedroom at night, reading my book.

I try to keep on top of the cooking and the washing and the cleaning, but it's not easy. Andy is helping where he can. I've been out a few times. We even went on holiday last week. It took me a tearful hour get out of the car one afternoon as the muscles in my back went into spasm and I couldn't move.

The hardest thing is not being able to take care of my children. Luckily they can feed themselves, dress themselves and entertain themselves. But I can't get down on the floor and play with them. I can't push them on the swings. I can't pick them up when they fall.

I can't pick them up.

Sorry this is so 'woe is me', but I'm fed up. I thought I'd be better by now. I see a physiotherapist tomorrow.

I've had enough of the swings. I want to get off.


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