An Excruciating Birthday

So in lieu of celebratory indulgences yesterday (well, I can't do anything much because of COVID), I went for my scheduled torture session with my physio.

The therapist had gotten wind it was my birthday and asked what I was doing after physio. I joked I'd probably bake something but my dough never rises so I must be a witch. He giggled as he moved my left arm to an excruciating position and he started pushing at it to open up my shoulder.

I grimaced in pain, tears welling in my eyes as I breathed through the agony.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." the therapist sang softly to me in his Scottish baritone as he continued pushing at my arm.

"Don't make me laugh," I said, still grimacing. "You're sweet but don't make me laugh while I'm in this excruciating position!"

Needless to say, that actually made my day.


I literally cried through the pain yesterday during my physio. Tears streamed down my face as the therapist worked my stubborn shoulder.

"I'm so sorry for the torture," he said as he moved my arm in a most excruciating position.

"It's okay," I sobbed, breathing through the pain. It felt like I was being worked over by Nanny McPhee: there was no sympathy but I knew the pain would be good for me.

When I woke up this morning, I found I had regained more of my range of movement without wincing in pain.

I look forward to more torture.

I Still Wake Up

Yesterday was #worldmentalhealthday.

I finally went back to physio yesterday morning because I was tired of the stiffness and dull pain on my left shoulder that disrupted my precious sleep for the last several months and limited my range of movement. The therapist concluded it was adhesive capsulitis. I hate that I was at risk for this shit because of age and diabetes.

My current glasses don't work anymore. I'm tired of ordering new glasses. I hate glasses. I hate not being able to read properly up close. I hate presbyopia.

I hate that my body is slowly deteriorating over time in several tiny different ways. I hate taking my medicines. The increasing number of tiny little pills and daily anti hyperglycaemic injections remind me of my mortality. I hate that my ability to cope is impeded by the pandemic and all the anxieties that come with it because as a species, people are just dumb as fuck.

Yesterday was #worldmentalhealthday. Much as I find life exceedingly tedious, I still wake up, and today is a new day.