I think the low point may have been Wednesday, when I watched Pudge do his post-poop victory lap and nearly cried from jealousy. I wanted to both run AND poop, but sadly, could do neither.
I am pleased to report that I am once again walking upright. Not without pain, mind you, but UPRIGHT, and that is a big improvement. The "regularity" problem has resolved itself (not without help, but whatever), I made it through the show last night without using a walker (though we had one standing by), and this afternoon I have an appointment for a massage.
So, things are looking up, possibly. I don't know whether to give credit to the naproxen, the ibuprofen, the diclofenac, the darvoset I finally got desperate enough to pull out of the medicine cabinet where I had stashed it in disgust three years ago, the valium, the organic apple cider vinegar, the long, hot baths, the icy-hot cream, the ice packs, the potassium, the heating pad, the capsicum patches, the mineral oil, the cane, or just the old "tincture of time," but I no longer feel like death is imminent. (Or desired.) I feel confident that I will make it through the rest of the shows, and then hopefully New Guy will be back in town (I say hopefully since he's supposed to be flying into DFW at some point this weekend, and what a helluva mess THAT is right now), and we can spend some quality time together before...well, you know.
And that's life as we know it, here in LizLand.
Here's to next week!