So there I was, minding my own business, asleep in my bed. The alarm has the audacity to wake me at its usual mocking time of 5:25. I hate you, 5:25. I hate you alarm. I hate early morning in general. It rubs me the wrong way.  Anyway, I get up after just one touch of the snooze button and start my day. Woo hoo. I feel a little stiff, back a little sore. Hmm, maybe I slept funny. No big deal.

I shower, dress, and go about my business. I drive to work, do my teaching thing, and have a generally so-so kind of day. Then it starts. OW. My back starts spasming and siezing. Damn, this hurts! Fortunately I have already released the cherubs to the care of the music and PE teachers, and I have time to writhe in peace. Seriously, this f’ing hurts.

I leave, wince as I buckle my seatbelt, and gather my teen. He is sympathetic. Bless him. Then I head home to start dinner and face the evening. My sweetheart comes in the door with not only the rest of the dinner fixin’s, but relief for my crazy back. Ben Gay adhesive patches. I’m thrilled to see them. I had been hoping that there might have been a painkiller or two left over from my last surgery, but then I remembered that I was prescribed a very small amount of those… I was rationing them from the start.

We finish dinner and he puts one on me. OH! It feels like ice cold goo is being applied to your back, then it almost instantly turns warm. Not overly warm though. It helps. So does the ibuprophen. I’m a bum all evening, barely moving at all.

I get ready for bed, changing patches (with sweetheart’s help, it’s hard enough to put something on your back, but when it’s painful to twist, well, that’s another problem all together), and hoping that I will sleep. I do.

The alarm rings at 5:25. Dammit. I hate that alarm. But I can move. Yes, it still hurts, but the stabbing sensation is gone. Thank goodness for ibuprophen, a wonderful man, and a gooey feeling bandage. Like my mom says, “getting older sucks.” That may be true much of the time, but it sure beats the alternative.