Mornings are best

Mornings are definitely best for me. It’s not just that I’m getting older (but that’s probably part of it, too), but my neck pain is more manageable from about 5:30am to about 11:00am. Not that I totally can’t stand it the rest of the day, but it’s just better in the mornings.

Since starting back to work in May, it’s been more difficult. I’m only working in the office 3 days each week for 4-hour stints. I do a lot of work from home, also. Actually, on the days I don’t go into the office and only work from home, I can put in more than 8 hours of work and get a ton of work done. When I go into the office, though, I would get home and more than one time, would just fall onto the sofa or the bed and stay there for 2, 3 or 4 hours... ugh.

I worked from home all day Monday and yesterday. Monday afternoon about 3pm, I went and laid down on my bed for a short rest. Sometimes it gets to the point where IJUSTHAVETOLAYMYHEADDOWN! And when those times happen, my lovely, lovely memory foam pillow is calling me.

Other times, after working at my desk for a few hours, I can tell I need a break, and the recliner in the living room calls out to me. Like yesterday... I didn’t realize how much time had passed, so I was at my desk for several hours. Suddenly, I was like, SHIT. Ow. Pain. Upright too long. So I hobbled like a very-old-person-walking-on-thin-ice-like-it’s-gonna-break-any-second on over to the recliner and carefully lowered myself down onto it and laid my head back against it’s wonderful comforting softness. Ahhhhhh...

But then, I remember... I need pain pills and I need them now. Do I get up? Are you kidding? I holler... Sammy! (pause) Sammy!! (pause) SAMMY!!! Usually he’s nearby, like up in his bedroom. Most of the time he’ll come out of his room and start directly down the stairs saying, “What do you need, Momma?” Because by now, my sweet, caring son knows the drill. “Tylenol, Vicodin, water,” I say. And he gets it for me. Other times, he’ll come out of his room and stand at the top of the stairs and says, “What?!” He is 13, after all.

So Monday afternoon when I laid down on my bed (ahhhhhhhh...), I holler... Sammy! (pause) Sammy!! (pause) SAMMY!!! I hear him at the top of the stairs, “What?!” I say, “c’mere.”

“What?!”

“C’MERE!”

He comes into our bedroom and asks what I need. I said, “please, honey, just come lay down with me for a minute, I need a Sammy-hug.” (Sammy-hugs are getting less popular now that he’s 13; he loved giving them when he was little.) I can tell he’s not happy. “Please,” I say, “I’m really hurting right now.” (I pull the guilt card, oh yeah, I do.)

So he lays down next to me and hugs me, and I say, “Please just rub my neck for a minute.” He does. Ahhhh... He’s not super good at it, mostly because he really doesn’t want to do it. I mean, he cares about me and all, but y’know... So after about 1 minute, he kinda stops. I sigh. Even one minute is so very nice. For some reason, my son's hands, large for a 13-year-old (he's always been one of the tallest, biggest boys in his class), anyway, Sam's hands are always warm. When he was little, he usually didn't want to wear mittens or a hat in cold weather, or often not a coat, either, for that matter. And his hands would always be so warm.

Sam says, “Mom, are you ever without pain?”

“No, Sam,” I say, “I guess I’m not. I guess I haven’t really thought about it minute-by-minute, but yeah, right now I’m always dealing with some level of pain.”

So we talk. He asks how long it will take to 'get over this', and I tell him I guess about a year from the second surgery is what I hear. He says that sucks. I agree. He asks if I have to take pills for all that time, and I tell him I hope not. I hope I can get to a point where I won’t need them.

We stopped talking and just laid there, and after a while, I said, “You know, there was one time recently when I wasn’t really feeling pain. At Applebee’s when we went there after Michael’s graduation.” (I still have to post about my nephew, Michael’s, graduation commencement, but afterwards, while Joyce and Mike were still at Bay Med, Kevin, Sammy and I took my sister, Kathy, my brother-in-law, Bob, and my niece, Michelle out to Applebee’s to celebrate. Michael appeared for a minute, before he had to leave for the all-night seniors’ party. It is kind of like a tradition... does twice make it tradition? Hmmm...)

Sam laughed and said, “Oh, yeah. Those Perfect Margaritas.”

If you like margaritas, then you must find an Applebee’s near you and try their Perfect Margaritas. Seriously, they don’t call 'em perfect for nothin'.

I smiled and sighed and said, “Yes.”

Sammy said, “Yes, those 3 Perfect Margaritas.”

Um, no... I tell him that I had only 2. The 3rd one the waiter delivered was for Aunt Kathy. A 3rd one probably would've put me on the floor.

Sammy said, “That night was so much fun.” I heartily agreed with him, and we talked for a while about how much fun it was.

“We should do that again soon,” he said. I heartily agreed with him.