Pain and Perspective

It was a rushed morning, getting packed for an overnight business trip, making sure the cats had enough food in their feeder. And of course, the litter boxes - I almost forgot them. I bent over them, "policing the cats' toilet" as James Qwilleran says, and had terrible back pain when I was finally able to straighten up. I guessed my Aleve hadn't kicked in yet. I then hobbled out to the dumpster with an armload of garbage and hobbled back to the apartment to carry overnight bag and small tote to car.

I hadn't time for breakfast, so I stopped at the Giant for a Bakers' Breakfast Cookie (expensive but great nutrition and it holds me until lunchtime - so well worth it). I hobbled to the store, hobbled less around the store and by the time I was back in my car, I had walked out the pain. That happens, but not for long - the pain returns if I walk too long. It's a fine line I "walk" - pardon the pun - between activity and pain.

However, in the words of Sophia Petrillo, "I digress" (don't you just love pop culture quotes?). I was sitting in my car in the Giant parking lot, getting ready to leave, when I noticed a gentleman getting out of his car. He was parked several rows ahead of me. I noticed him because he was older - not elderly, but maybe a few years older than me - and he was getting out of his car like I have to at times - slowly, methodically, mindful of the joints and muscles that ache. But his slow, methodical movements didn't stop; I watched as he walked across the parking lot towards the store in a hesitant, shuffling gait. "He needs a walker," the nurse in me said.

This man, with his halting gait, did not have a walker or a cane. He had not parked in a handicap spot or even a closer parking spot. He had eased himself out of his car and walked, not well, but independently across the macadam to the store.

My back pain was almost gone by the time I pulled out of the Giant parking lot. I knew that it would come back this afternoon after the trip to Bloomsburg. However, I was handling it - I was making do. I was hobbling when I had to, shuffling if need be, and resting. The next time I start to feel sorry for myself because the pain may be limiting me, I'll think about the gentleman in the Giant parking lot. And I'll just "walk" it off.