Tri-State Neighbor: South Dakota Farm Newspaper

Ouch. My back hurts. I don't deal well with pain. I whine. Actually, I whine for a while, and then I figure out how to deal with it. But at the outset, I like to whine and look for sympathy. When that doesn't work, I move on.

I am not sure what was ailing my back. I didn't do anything silly like lift a heavy object, start an exercise program without my doctor's consent, shovel snow or go ice skating in my driveway. However, one day a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that my hips hurt.

“OK,” I thought. A little touch of arthritis. Normal at my age. I didn't whine. In fact, I was interested to find out whether my hips were predicting a snowstorm. I have always envied my mother's ability to predict storms by the pain in her thumb. Perhaps, I thought, my hips are going to be my personal “Early Warning System.”

Sure enough, within 48 hours we had snowfall. Nice going, I said to my hips, fully expecting that the ache would subside quickly. To my surprise, the ache got worse and turned from ache to sharp pain. I was on the verge of whining.

Still, I was able to do all the things I normally do, so I went about my business without complaining to anyone other than the cats.

One night, I noticed that turning over in bed had become a major event. I had to grasp the sheet and pull myself from one position to another. The pain moved from my hips across the small of my back. In the morning, rolling over, sitting up and getting out of bed was next to impossible.

When I bought this twin home, I was delighted to select a two-story. I thought it very nostalgic to have the bedrooms upstairs as they had been in my childhood home. This particular morning, however, I found myself clinging to the banister and stepping down one slow step at a time. I had to move sideways like a crab. Twenty minutes of effort got me downstairs to the coffeepot.

I don't often take medication, but this new development sent me to the medicine cabinet searching for painkillers. I made the mistake of reading the warnings and the side effects. “Internal bleeding, hives, shock, facial swelling.” The warnings became more alarming for people over 60.

I put the pills away. All of this happened on a Sunday (of course), so I had to wait a day to call my doctor. I planned to ask her which was least likely to kill me - the pain or the pills. In the meantime, I eased into my recliner, pulled a quilt up to my chin, and spent the day whining to myself.

That night was no better than the one before. Finally, at sunrise, I couldn't take it any more. I swallowed two of the painkillers, expecting to immediately drop to the floor, rendered unconscious by side effects. Instead - bam! - the pain went away.

I called the doctor as soon as the office opened. I told her the whole story, told her what I had taken, told her that it had worked, and waited to hear the verdict.

To my relief, she told me to continue taking the pills. I would be safe she said. In addition: “Use ice where it hurts - 20 minutes three times a day. Call if anything changes.”

That was a relief. Since I didn't garner enough sympathy the day of the backache, I am doing a little retro-whining, telling anyone who will listen how bad it was. I have yet to encounter anyone who wants to spend much time listening.

So, there's only one thing left for me to do. Take care of myself so the “slipped disk” doesn't slip again. Deal with it and move on Š remembering to move carefully, of course.

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