Sproinged

I sproinged my giraffe neck on Sunday. If you've ever had a sproinged neck, you should be cringing sympathetically unless you are a completely heartless and merciless individual. If you've never experienced sproinging, count your blessings.

It happened out of the blue, without rhyme or reason. I was working in the yard, corralling leaves, then SPROING! The muscles at the base of my neck spasmed and twitched, sending bolts of pain in all directions. I dropped my rake and froze. Tried turning my head. Mistake. Tried lifting my arms. Another mistake. Tried taking a deep breath. Strike three. Carefully, oh so carefully, I tiptoed gently across the yard and into the house.

Wendy is familiar with my neck sproings. She's nursed me through this condition before. The real bitch about it is that there is no way to get physically comfortable. Lay down in bed? Forget it. Do you realize how many muscles in the neck and shoulders are required to assume a supine position? Or worse yet, to get up once you've made it down? All of them I think. Sit quietly? Forget it. Heads are heavy and require quite a few muscles to keep them erect. I chose to perch carefully onto the couch and immobilize my head upright with pillows. There I sat in my sweaty dirty yardwork clothes because removing them was absolutely out of the question.

Yet something good has come of this spriong. I've always just taken anti-inflammatories and suffered through my day-to-day activities. I'd endure at least a week of misery before I felt good again. This time, however, I had the luxury of sitting quietly, swallowing megadoses of anti-inflammatories all afternoon and evening. By the time bedtime rolled around, I was actually able to comfortably get there.

This morning? Still a bit tender but nothing like my previous sproinging pain marathons. I wish I had learned to sit still years ago.

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