we could all grow old gracefully.
After church Sunday, Bella and I were going to race Tim to the van. I took three half-running steps when I heard a pop and felt a crazy pain in my right calf. I stopped abruptly and clenched my leg. "Okay Mommy?" Bella asked with genuine concern. "I don't know. Something just popped." I wasn't really explaining it to her as much as I was just trying to process it out loud. I thought I would "walk it off" but the slightest pressure sent a direct message: "Houston, we have a problem."
I tore my calf muscle. Fortunately, we were headed to a surprise birthday party where our friend (and physical therapist!) to a look-see at it. Tim stayed home yesterday to man the fort while I followed a regiment of RICE (which I now know means rest, ice, compress, elevate). Today, I am feeling much better. Still hobbling but not nearly as much pain.
Yesterday afternoon I was perched on my sick bed -the couch- with my leg propped up eating a late lunch. As I lifted the spoon to my mouth a pain shot through my fingers and into my forearm. I dropped the spoon with a gasp. Shook my hand out and tried again. "Ouch!" I said while again losing my grip on the spoon.
Tim looked at me with dismay. "What now?"
"I don't know. It hurts to hold the spoon." And with a great pout: " I think I'm falling apart."
Normally at this point in the conversation Tim would say something wonderfully compassionate like "yeah, I think you have that um, oh, what is it? Oh yeah, O.L.D." But he didn't use that one on me this time. Instead, he asked, "What have you been doing lately, baby?"
"Nothing!" I replied emphatically.
He shook his head in feigned sympathy. "Well, maybe you should start doing something. Doing nothing is killing you."
I should've seen it coming. Goof.
In contrast, Bella comes to me regularly and gently pats my leg. "It's popping, Mama?" Today, she brought my ice pack and with a look of intense warning said, "It's bery, bery cold." At least someone will love me even when I'm O.L.D. =)