My body is taking its sweet-ass time adjusting to taking muscle relaxers in the morning. Most days, around 7 AM, I crawl up the stairs and back into bed. Sometimes I nap. Sometimes I lay there in a sprawled-out, odd-shaped lump and stare at whichever marathon the USA network has on that day. Then, after about an hour, I can muster the energy to take a shower.
Monday night, I got up to drag myself up the stairs for bed. And I realized something. That agonizing pain in my hip- the pain that felt like my muscle was being pressed into a cheese shredder slowly, as if by the Turtle in the "Bugs Bunny" cartoon- was gone. GONE. I felt... GOOD. Tuesday- all day- there was no pain in my hip. And I realized that it had taken a little over two weeks for the daytime muscle relaxers but IT WORKED!
ALL HAIL OUR NEW OVERLORD! CYCLOBENZAPRINE, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!
Then, Wednesday happened.
I woke up Wednesday, I took my drugs. I went on with my day. And in the evening, I had to drive to my dad's house so we could go to a town about an hour away. He asked me to go along and take photos. If you're on my Facebook or Flickr, you already know- but he's a Mason. His lodge was bestowing a 60-year certificate on an 85 year old man. I'll spare the long (but interesting) story for now. We didn't get back into town till 9 PM. And I had to drive, so I didn't take my muscle relaxers with me. And when I got all the way home, it was too late in the evening for me to take them. I had my Vicodin, but no muscle relaxers.... which meant I was awake till 3 AM.
And because I didn't fall asleep till 3 AM, I didn't get a Thursday morning dose. When I started to crawl out of bed, the pain was back in my hip. And that was just the most painful part of my body. The rest of it was achy with the thrown-from-the-horse ache.
And Thursday was our big grocery shopping day. I was merely tired when we left the house. By the time we were about 1/3 of the way through our grocery shopping trip, my body started to let me know it wasn't happy. It let me know by roundhouse kicking me in the back of the face the way Dalton roundhouse kicked the thugs in the back of the face in his stylishly loose trousers and impeccably feathered hair. (if you get the reference, you know why I love you). My walking pace slowed significantly. By the time we were done, I was practically crawling. When we got home, I didn't even help unload the groceries. I just sat down and tried not to curl up into that whiny question mark.
Thursday night, I took my normal dose. Friday morning (RIGHT NOW! Seriously, as I type this sentence, it is 608 AM), I took my normal morning dose. And now I'm just waiting for it to kick in. I'm in a lot of pain today. A lot. My hip is a burning, shredding pain. My skin is itchy and on fire.
One day without muscle relaxers and I feel like I did two weeks ago. Bleh. Stupid pain. Stupid itchy skin.
OH! Speaking of the itchy skin... I HAVE A THEORY! I do! Now, just bear with me...
I scar ugly. So does my dad. Our surgical scars look scary. Regular scars never seem to fade. When I had my total knee replacement, my body said, "Oh, you're going to cut me open? Well, I'm gonna heal so fast that you won't be able to bend your knee..." And less than six weeks after my surgery, I needed a manipulation under anesthesia. That's where they basically knock you out and bend your knee for you, to break up adhesions. (simply put- your body creates scar tissue so quickly, it causes you to not be able to bend).
So, I heal quickly. Which is good (except when you have a total knee replacement). I'm apparently Wolverine! You didn't know, did you? Yeah, the movie they made about me changed some things to make it a little more entertaining. Trust me, you'd rather see Hugh Jackman shirtless than me. Although, they did nail my hairstyle perfectly.
My theory on this itchy skin thing... usually the day after a flareup, I feel this itchy thing- and it is under my skin. And it feels like when you have a small injury and it gets itchy as it heals. Last week, I stepped on a piece of glass that was apparently on the floor for eight months (You know what I mean, right? You break a glass, you sweep, you vacuum, you mop- several times for months... and then one day, you step on a tiny piece of glass anyway). It wasn't very big, but I had a heck of a time getting it out of my foot. A day or two later, that part of my foot itched so bad that I wanted to use a porcupine on my foot to get rid of the itch.
Maybe my skin itching this way after a flareup is my "overactive nerves" trying to heal. I didn't say it was a great theory, but then fibrofuckingmyalgia is a stupid disease. That's right, I said it. STUPID DISEASE!
Oh, and here's a photo of what I did on Wednesday night. The story is in the description of the photo. (if you click the photo, it'll take you to Flickr).