Coupla bad days don’t add up to mean nuthin’

The past few days have not been good to me.

On Thursday, I woke up with a terribly familiar creak of doom at the left side of my neck. (Had it once last year, and I think it took a full week for the creakiness to pass.) Got worse throughout the day, and finally resolved to get a traditional Chinese massage after work.

Not sure if it made things worse, but undergoing a traditional Chinese massage for the first time is no small feat (for low-threshold-for-pain me)! And you’re expected to relax through the crazy punches and contortions!

Maybe the massage did make things worse, cos instead of hurting predictably when I turned my head a certain way, afterwards the pain came in sudden spasms. It felt like a stray nerve was break-dancing on muscle, man. Involuntary pain sucks.

That night was one of the worst I’ve ever faced. No sleeping position was good enough for the neck, and I kept waking up with a twang of hurt. No blissful sleep in a long darkness for me. Trying to get up to apply more medicinal ointment was distressing — took minutes to decide which side to attempt to get up on, and finally doing so brought on another spasm. Discovered that groaning as you get up does bring relief.

So OK, Friday — after much encouragement and advice by colleagues, decided to see a GP at lunch to get a referral letter for a physiotherapist, taking a half-day’s leave in anticipation of the latter. I take leave, make the appointment with the physio, see the GP, come back during lunch, and am duly informed that the Typhoon Signal No. 8 (my very first!) will be raised soon, and so everyone was to head home.

So, no physio for me that afternoon, I didn’t have medication from the GP cos I’d wanted to rely on the physiotherapy, everyone else was on half-day’s leave anyway, and my very first typhoon (what kind of name is Pabuk?) was whirling headlong into Hong Kong.

Oh wait, Pabuk wasn’t really a typhoon — just a tropical storm. The No. 8 signal was precautionary, and the high winds and seas were really only at the western bit of the territory. So all I got sight of when I emerged from the claustrophobic evacuation zone of the MTR (everyone was heading home) and plunged into the chaotic warzone of the supermarket downstairs (everyone was buying something) was a sheet of rain that cleared up pretty soon and some undulating greenery. And that was that.

My parents got angsty (and antsy), but nevertheless, I MTR-ed out to Central to watch Ratatouillegreat film, Pixar! — had bought tickets the night before, and there wasn’t a real danger, really. The only crazy thing about Pabuk was that it got the Signal No. 8 out rather unexpectedly; the night before, it was supposed to be swirling away from Hong Kong.

Anyway, the creaky pains were not helped by a front row seat at the cinema, however luxurious the IFC Palace was, so I picked up these nifty muscle-relaxing painkilling pills by Panadol to get me through the night. Got through with a nifty muscle-relaxing gel pastie by Salonsip (thanks, AJ) in the end, but Saturday afternoon (that’s today) was indeed pleasantly numbed by the Panadol (thanks, AA).

Was supposed to get lotsa of needful work done these two days, but that’s all gone to pot, but I can’t let it, I can’t … Could very well be a combination of poor posture, bent-over editing, and a sedentary, sloppy lifestyle that’s done me in. The masseuse said that I had amazingly poor circulation and, no wonder — will editing finally be the death of me? It’s definitely creating a dearth of me, anyhow. Hollowing out much of what used to be my playground. O-ho, all cryptic I’m being.

Now I’ve caught a bit of a cold, sneezing away in the rainy bitterness of August. My brother calls to tell me the vet has recommended that the dog be put down, in the face of her withered years and shrivelled weakness. No, let it not be about what’s most convenient, but what’s best … but how do we ever know what’s truly best for whomever else it is?

Oh, and my brother got bitten by a 20-cm-long centipede that crawled up his leg at an outdoor restaurant in Pasir Ris. Thank God he’s not allergic. He waited a couple of agonising hours at the Changi A&E before finally going to the one at Gleneagles, where he found much quicker relief. The doc actually joked that the centipede should’ve been brought to the zoo instead of being squashed — could’ve been an hitherto undiscovered species, he said, while sharing a number of other juicy facts about centipede bites. ¡Ay, caramba!


One thought on “Coupla bad days don’t add up to mean nuthin’

  1. Oh dear, do take care. Go to the physiotherapist as soon as you can, and STOP dumping all your books and what nots into your shoulder bag….carry them in your hand instead. A good posture and lots of rest are always good.

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