Yes, the weekend may be short, but its arrival is a blessing. Even though I've spent three hours writing a nursing exam on cardiology and hematology, I'm content to be home. With the warmer temperatures during the day and slight chill at night, we found ourselves on the screened-in porch this afternoon and in front of a small woodstove fire tonight, windows ajar for some of the fresh cool air and the sounds of frogs in the nearby pond. Dogs do their canine thing--eat and sleep and walk.
Now the dueling laptops are at it again, Mary blogging on Zaadz (a new progressive on-line community which is growing exponentially).
My current mental state of relaxation is somewhat knocked off-kilter by increasing chronic back and leg pain for which treatment has been slow to materialize. The symptoms have been slowly increasing over the last few years, to the point where my chiropractor and I are actually discussing whether a diagnosis of myofascial pain syndrome may be accurate. The next step is clueing in my new Internist about this ongoing struggle, and perhaps seeking further work-up. At 41, I already live with major depression, gastroesophageal reflux disease, hyperlipidemia, and newly-diagnosed benign prostatic hypertrophy. I never think of myself as a patient, really, but this growing list of chronic conditions is leading to a realization that that characterization is quite accurate. Thus, the concept of "Healer, heal thyself"---as my wife intoned today---takes prominence in my mind.
Examining the back pain which I am experiencing presently, I realize that if any of my patients had such pain, they would be on the phone requesting help, many pushing for narcotics. While I do occasionally take one of Mary's Fioricets (ssshhhh, don't tell!) when it's really bad, I mainly stick with naproxen, ibuprofen, occasional Arnica Montana, and regular chiropractic care and irregular deep tissue massage, not to mention exercise and rest. I have a hard time seeing myself as chronically ill, but, in another circumstance and context, it might be possible to define me in that way, and that, dear Reader, is a frightening thought.
But I digress. The weekend brings with it not only spring-like rain and fickle weather, but the end of Daylight Savings Time, meaning that tomorrow the sun will miraculously go down at 8pm, the length of the day gloriously lengthened for our pleasure (and Vitamin-D-producing benefit). I will earnestly try to keep the dread of Sunday night at bay, instead focusing on the here and now, the loveliness of the early spring, the freedom of the silent alarm clock, the proximity of my love, and the knowledge that the weekend's gifts cannot be erased by the arrival of Monday. Back pain be damned, home sweet home is sweet indeed, be I patient or healer.