This is all Loki's fault.
Possibly it was revenge for leaving the two cats on their own on the hottest day in Puyallup's history. I mean, I left them with both fans running and plenty of ice water, but it was still pretty hot. We spent the day before yesterday over at a friend's house (a friend with air conditioning, which that particular day was the best kind!) and ended up spending the night there too. Yesterday was much, much cooler-- the morning was actually kind of pleasant and we knew it was supposed to get down to a blissful 65 degrees at night, so we came back to the apartment to open it up and let some cool air in, and to pick up our supplies for Connor's reading time.
Now, I would like to preface this by saying that I am a stickler for lifting techniques. Due to extensive weight lifting training and jobs that involved a lot of heavy lifting, I'm always very careful about how I move and carry Connor-- especially as he gets older and harder to haul around. So when I came into the apartment yesterday morning and set Connor down on the living room floor, it was using proper lifting techniques. I had let go of the little guy and was squatting there on the activity mats he's been sleeping on, twisting to the left to find something out of his diaper bag, when Loki bounded up behind me and shoved his nose up my dress, scaring the crap out of me. I startled upright and as I did so, felt something pop in my lower back and a sensation not unlike someone stabbing me with an ice pick.
I have never thrown out my back before. I'm not particularly enjoying the experience.
After I went over and threw up in the kitchen sink, I dosed myself up with Motrin and Tylenol and grabbed an ice pack. Then we packed up and went to reading time. I mean, I know that ideally I should have stayed flat on my back. However, flat on my back in an apartment that, while cooler than the day before, was still hovering somewhere around 90 degrees, did not sound like a wonderful idea. Connor doesn't do very well at those temperatures, and I usually end up having to give him multiple cold baths. The idea of lifting him in and out of the bathtub made me nauseous just thinking about it. I figured I'd just try to take it as easy as I could, and since I had respite care for a good portion of the next day, I could spend that time in bed.
I feel like the little mermaid. Not the syrupy Disney version-- the original one, minus the whole being-a-mermaid-and-not-talking-and-turning-into-sea-foam-bit. The original little mermaid felt like she had daggers stabbing her in the legs every time she took a step. I'm experiencing a very similar sensation, only it's in my back and whenever I push down the clutch in my car. Okay, so maybe it's not anything like the little mermaid, but at any rate it really hurts and I'm cursing the fact that we don't drive an automatic.
I'm going to have our respite care worker (who happens to be a medical massage therapist-- how awesome is that?) give me a massage while Connor's down for a nap today. In the meantime I'm going to try and stay as immobile as possible. Poor Connor spent the majority of yesterday once it cooled down lying on the bed with me, totally bored. These things apparently take three to six weeks to heal. Joy of joys. I feel like an old woman, and I'm moving really slow, which has me nervous. I'm keeping my eye on that cat, as he's now succeeded in wounding me.
I'm pretty sure he's just toying with me now, as he could probably finish me off pretty easily. Whenever the Motrin wears off, I kind of wish he would.
10 hours ago