Five years ago...was it five years? Four and a half? Hmm. Anyway, I ended-up in an emergency room in excruciating pain and it turned out I had a good old-fashioned bulging disc. Thousands and thousands of dollars worth of out-of-pocket physical therapy sessions later, I hobbled on my way. Since that day, I have never, and I do mean never, nit when I have a raging fever, or am on vacation or just plain old don't feel like it, have I missed one day of doing the back exercises that will supposedly keep all and sundry in place. Like putting on a girdle (or Spanx for you young ones) of muscle for my back. I mention this because every doctor with whom I spoke or who wanted to see how I can't raise my leg or touch my toes kept murmuring that if I was diligent about my exercises, this shouldn't have happened.

And yet a couple of weeks ago, I leaned over to spit out my toothpaste foam and ta-da! My back went out. I tried the things that have worked in the past, absolute rest in the form of lying in a contorted position bolstered by cushions ala the physical therapist's suggestion for putting the least amount of pressure on it. I tried not driving, not walking, not lifting. But,dang. It was bad. So, I was forced to resort to the doctor prescribed anti-inflammitories and painkillers and class 3 narcotics. And still the pain persisted to the point that last weekend I found myself in a public place with a floor so filthy that had one of Mort's mittens fell upon it, I would not have let him pick it-up. We would have bought new ones. And yet my back gave me no choice.I laid on the floor. In the filth. No questions as to why I was out and about, because isn't it obvious? I was on medication. I was better.

And then the doctor tried to sell me on the wonders of another round of physical therapy. Which was fine the first time around. And helpful. But unless you are hurt on the job, insurance companies seem to deem all back problems pre-existing conditions. Even if you are relatively young and healthy. Bitter, party of one. And unless they've come up with some brand new exercises, I'd just as soon move on to something else.

So now I am on the juice. The steroids. And they seem to be working, thank you Jesus. The side effects are a bit interesting. As in, for someone with insomnia and various anxiety induced issues, probably not the best mix. But really, who knew I could talk this fast for this long? It's amazing! I feel like an after-school special warning against speed. In a point of interest, the steroids are the same ones our darling Stella had to take when it turned out she had hurt her back to the point that her discs were fused together. Stella's advice is, "Don't play fetch on the stairs."

And I don't know about you, but there are many the day that is so hectic that I sometimes long for just a teensy illlness that would require me to lay around all day, sniffling delicately and reading and watching crap television. In reality, that sucks. It is so boring you can't believe it.

Whoa--just big time excitement while we rushed to get Stella outside before she threw-up.

And so, while I was laid-up, I wrote. And I completed a piece. And I submitted it. And that is all I will say about that until I get my rejection letter. I'm big on the jinxing.