Perhaps it was hearing about everyone training for half-marathons, or perhaps it was due to standing over an ironing board to get the girls’ dresses ready for Easter, but I can’t move my back.
It was so bad, I couldn’t get out of bed two days ago. I finally gave in and went to the doctor, who prescribed muscle relaxers and pain medication. She also expects me to exercise. That sounds like quackery.
So for now, I just scoot my legs around in very short steps, and make a lot of wincing expressions with every movement. My mobility evokes images of my Aunt Midge.
Jenny informed me in no uncertain terms, that when she signed on “for better or for worse,” that was contingent on me being healthy for the next 40 years, or in other words, just the “for better” part. She said that if I expect her to have to help me get dressed each morning, or flip me for bedsores, I have another thing coming. Real fine attitude Jenny. Real fine.
