Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, August 15, 1994 TAG: 9408150021
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
My doctor calls my problem "scapular bursitis." The terms I've been using have not been so polite.
Whatever, it all boils down to this: For the past couple of weeks, I've not been able to find one single position in which to sit or lie that's even moderately comfortable.
My least comfortable positions are those assumed for (a) driving and (b) working at my desk. And that boils down to this: I've been trapped at home with nothing to do.
I'm getting very grumpy.
(Just ask the Man of the House.)
On the other hand, I've caught up on all the soap operas, and I've read a number of very long and very trashy novels.
The other remedies I've tried include heating pads, ice packs, analgesics, anti-inflammatories, massage, exercise, rest, boredom, excitement and bourbon. None of these works, but the massage and the bourbon, especially when combined in the right proportions, are at least pleasant enough to try a second time.
Even a third and a fourth time, if you want to know the truth.
The deepest insult of this particular injury is that I apparently inflicted it upon myself by - are you ready for this? - sitting at my desk!
Yes, that's right. I sat at my desk too long in one position. Enjoying a book too much. (A book that was not, by the way, a long and trashy novel.)
This is my reward for hard work? This, now, is what comes of diligence and concentration?
This was not the reward I expected (or ever received) for long, hard study in my youth.
Which implies another injurious insult, doesn't it? Something to do with loss of youth. Loss of elasticity and stamina. Loss of vigor. Vitality. Vim.
Etc. Etc. Etc.
You can learn to live with constant, nagging pain. But it takes a lot of energy. Consequently, lately I've dozed off often. And I've had odd dreams.
The other day, for instance, I dreamed of searching all over Lexington for a Hardee's. A trio of women in town for a visit from Ronald Reagan offered to help me out.
I said I was no Reagan supporter.
They said that was OK, they'd help me anyway.
Nevertheless, it soon became clear to me that none of these women had ever let fast food cross their perfectly painted lips.
When we finally found the Hardee's, I ordered my bacon-and-egg biscuit and offered to buy them each a little breakfast, too.
No, no, they said politely. Not necessary.
Please, I insisted.
Finally, they agreed to have a little gourmet Mexican pizza.
"You can get that here?" I asked.
Well, no. But just down the street ...
And then I woke up. My ice pack had melted, but - my back didn't hurt! Ah, I thought, and I stirred around, ready to jump in the car and drive until I found a Hardee's still serving breakfast.
That's all it took. Slam! Right down the back of my neck and across my shoulder again.
I guess I'll start another trashy book. And another ice pack, too.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB