Body Armor

When I say I need body armor, I'm not talking about the sports drink or the undergarments (although both of those might also come in handy). I mean that I need to have a suit of chainmail, including helmet. I've written before about my clumsiness; among my friends and family, I'm famous for it. A few nights ago, when my son was leaving in his new car to go to his brother's house, I bent down to give him a hug -- and cracked my head on the doorframe. Hard. I couldn't see for a few seconds. So now I have a bruise just above my eyebrow and it still hurts like a son of a bitch.

Not all my aches and pains are self-inflicted, at least not in the immediate sense. Some are, I suppose, just a consequence of getting older; others are remnants of a lifetime of body abuse. Actually, I think part of the "abuse" was serious working out, which should be good for me, and may have been at the time. Maybe it's because I stopped, or maybe it all just damaged my joints. I know that breaking so many bones over the years has caused some arthritis and joint and tendon damage. By the time I was twelve, I'd broken at least fifteen bones. In adolescence and beyond, I slowed down a bit.

Today I'm feeling every injury, recent and long past. In addition to my bruised head, a muscle in my left leg is pulled, I guess; I'm really not sure what's going on, I only know that I can't sit or stand without excruciating pain. My plantar fasciitis and bone spurs are killing me -- and of course it's worse on the right side, so between all of it I can barely move. I'm sure I sound like a whiny baby, and I know other people much younger than I have much worse problems. I don't mean to complain, but it does hurt. I have a high pain tolerance and hate to take pain meds, so there's really no point in going to the doctor -- yet. If it's all still this bad on Monday, I'll go in. He probably misses me; I haven't been in since April.