I did something really stupid when I was in college. Actually I did a lot of stupid things, but only one really goes with the back pain theme of this post.
When I first moved out of my house to go to school, I got an apartment on the third floor. Why they call it the third floor I'm not sure, because it was actually 6 flights of stairs I had to mount before reaching this "third floor" so it should have been called the sixth floor.
Coincidentally, I chose this apartment for one reason: I had friends who lived in the same complex. I moved from Frederick, MD to Baltimore, where I knew no one, and I thought having friends nearby would be convenient. So I paid $625 for a one-bedroom piece of crap just for that reason. The reason my friends chose this place was because of its proximity to Towson University, where we all went. This complex was pretty much located in Towson's backyard. In order to get to class, I basically walked through the apartment's parking lot, down a steep hill that brought me through the woods that separated the campus from the apartments, and into the building. So that was pretty sweet.
Because it was practically on campus, you would think that my apartment complex would house pretty much only Towson University students. Ah, but you would be wrong. Apparently, the complex had some sort of deal for senior citizens, because there were a number of them living there. I don't know if the apartment company had to pay less in taxes or if it kept the cops away, or what. And I was lucky enough to live across the hall from one of these seniors.
There were only 2 apartments per floor, and we were on the top floor so I felt that the two of us were very isolated from everyone else. I didn't mind too much at first, because I loved my grandmother and I thought maybe this nice old lady would bake me cookies and be a nice sit-in. Boy was I wrong.
I came to refer to my elderly neighbor as the bearded goat lady from Hell (thanks to Jeff Foxworthy, who came up with that moniker and it stuck in my head until a suitable owner showed up). Her apartment smelled like death. I could always tell if she had recently had her door open because the entire landing would reek. I'm not sure exactly what caused that smell, and I was happy not knowing.
She hated me and would give me the death stare every time we ran into each other. Speaking of running into each other, there was one incident where my brother and I were leaving the apartment building, and she was entering. My brother held the door open for her and as she made her way up to it, she tripped and fell face first into him. He caught her and steadied her and she just gave him her patented death look and continued on her way. Didn't even thank him for catching her or holding the door, or apologize for nearly knocking him over.
Anyway, she has nothing at all to do with the stupid thing I did, I just thought you would want to know about her.
So as I'm living in this sixth story apartment, my mother got the bright idea in her head that I needed entire sets of encyclopedias and reference books to fill up my bookshelves. That I didn't have because there was no room for them. Even though I had the Internet, which is much better, and takes up less room.
So one Sunday morning she shows up at my place with her entire station wagon (The Boat) loaded up with copy paper boxes filled with huge reference books. Of course, there's no way that I'm going to make my 60-year old mother carry boxes of books up 6 flights of stairs to my place, so she hung out in my apartment, criticizing my lack of food while I carried all 20 or so boxes up.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs? Because it was.
No elevator or anything.
I was working out at the time, and I was well aware that the proper way to lift is with your legs and not your back. And I thought that's what I was doing.
But the next day, when my alarm went off, I found I could not move. At all.
My entire back was screaming bloody murder. I had never experienced pain like this in my life. For almost an entire week I was bound to my bed, crawling on all fours if I had to go to the bathroom or get something to eat. Somehow I got some Icy Hot and would apply it to my entire back side, then sit in the bathtub in steaming hot water for as long as I could tolerate it. (If you've never done that before, give it a try- it's a really trippy feeling when the icy part kicks in, combined with the heat of the water.)
That was actually the only time I ever missed class that semester. Since then, I've been super careful about my back, because it gets messed up really easily. Not to the point where I can't walk, but as soon as I notice any type of pain there, I try to take it easy. Which is not the simplest thing, considering it's my job to move and work out and teach classes.
So hopefully taking it easy today will relieve the pain and I'll be able to enjoy turning 30 this weekend without feeling like I'm actually turning 70.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs?
1 comment:
how many flights of stairs did you have to climb to get those prehistoric encyclopedias to your room?
Post a Comment