The plug that broke the camel’s back

dimanche, le 06 septembre 2009

Last night I did an unbearably stupid thing.

There I was, moving things around to cram myself into a corner to take, what I expected to be, a great artistic photograph. Camera in hand, I crossed my legs and dropped to the floor. Only to scream out in the most excruciating pain.

I’d been focusing so hard on the picture I wanted to take, I didn’t notice the power cable and dreaded three-prong plug of the heater I had just moved, right in the path of where I was about to sit. And with my full body weight, I dropped down on the three-prong plug, right on my coccyx.

Today I cannot move without the pain shooting through my body.

I remember a January long ago when I’d also hurt my back. L’homme was kind and caring in those days. He was concerned and supportive. Most days he’d go with me to the chiropractor, each night he’d pass me pain killers so that I could carry on working. Eventually I landed in hospital, on a valium and anti-inflammatory drip, for forced bed rest.

On the first morning in hospital I opened my eyes to find two beauticians next to my bed. My first thoughts were that it was just more of the most wonderful valium hallucinations. But I was wrong. L’homme had sent them to give me a French Manicure.

To this day it stands out in my mind as the kindest, sweetest, most gentle thing L’homme had ever done for me. And I loved him so.

This time there will be no French Manicures, no passing of pain killers, no accompanying to the chiropractor, no concern. At least not real, and if I stumble across them, it will be from pain hallucinations.

Today I cannot move without the pain shooting through my body, I cannot see through my eyes without the tears welling up and I cannot feel with my heart without being overwhelmed by sadness.

(The plug that caused the pain, the remembering, the yearning and the longing.)