So I am superstitious. Not about everything, but about somethings. I am superstitous about my birthday. I have always felt that however my birthday plays out is a precursor for the year’s events. If it is a good day, it will be a good year. If it is boring, nothing extraordinary will happen that year. As an example, when I was twelve, I had a fever on my birthday, a horrible birthday. That May, I didn’t make the cheerleading squad. Coincidence? I think not!
This birthday, however, I refuse to believe that my health will have any baring on my year. You see, I threw out my back on New Years Eve, and I am still in quite a bit of pain. It literally hurts to walk. Nonetheless, yesterday, we went out for breakfast and I indulged with biscuits and gravy. We laughed the whole time because Maggie entertained us with cheesy pick up lines:
“Your hand looks heavy, let me hold it for you.”
“Is your name Google because you are exactly what I am looking for.”
God only knows why a thirteen year old girl knows any let alone about a hundred pickup lines.
The day itself was relaxing. We watched football, I read a magazine, it was complete and utter pleasure. In the evening, we went to a local watering hole with friends. It was a good birthday. I hurt, but I sat a great deal, and the laughter deterred me from worrying about back pain.
However, this morning my body felt like a cement block. No, more like the cement blocks in parking lots that are used as bumpers, and last night, a lot of cars took advantage of hitting me. As much as I hurt, I had to get up. Nature was calling.
After rolling around and grabbing sheets, the night stand, the bed frame, and a nice shove from Tom, I finally got myself into a sitting position. I clenched my teeth and stood. My back did not spasm, but my hips felt sore. With each step, they throbbed. Last week, I didn’t think I could ever feel worse, today, I knew better.
It took me a good five minutes to walk down the steps to get to the bathroom, which actually worked out well for me because it allowed for whatever was brewing in my bowels to make its way to wanting to come out.
However, after I went, I had a problem. I could not find an angle that would allow me to wipe my tushie. I tried the reach around, but the twist made my back spasm. I tried to reach in between but because of my hip pain, I couldn’t lean forward enough to reach. I tried to stand and wipe, but again, twisting made that equally impossible.
I stopped and took a deep breath. Could this be happening? I thought about calling for Tom, but then I talked myself out of it. 47 is not the year I rely on someone else to wipe my ass. 47 is not the year I throw in the proverbial towel. I had a good birthday, and damn it, I wasn’t going to allow going to the bathroom conquer me.
I sat back down. I took a few deep breaths. What was I to do?
Our bathtub is close enough to the toilet that I was able to rest my heels on the edge, hinge forward on my hips, and clean myself the way only I should clean myself. I wiped three times, not because I was that messy, but because I could! I used a few extra squares as if to thumb my nose at my body for trying to take me down.
Freedom may be won with amunition. My freedom was won with Charmin.