I was reading in bed, pinned between collie and hound, when the black shepherd decided to join us.
Scooting over to make room, I felt it: That familiar wrench those with "bad backs" know can portend anything from a few stiff hours to complete incapacitation.
The last time I felt it, I'd simply reached down to replace the toilet seat lid. Later, balancing gingerly on the edge of the bed, legs splayed out awkwardly for my husband to pull on my socks and boots, I had an unwelcome sense of déjà vu.
Only the year before, as I was running an errand at lunchtime, a side-blind driver cut into the busy lane in front of me. I jammed on the brake so hard I was raised off the seat. There was a hot surge of pain as my back seized up, then ... nothing. Until I got to the store I'd been heading for and tried to get out of the car.
Then numbness turned to pain so dizzying I could barely drive home.
For the next few days standing was impossible, sitting excruciating. Even with medication to relax the muscles and dull the pain, the only comfortable position was the prone one.
I left my bed only to use the bathroom, and then it was after rolling off the edge of the mattress onto the floor, where I'd gather my strength for the crawl ahead on hands and knees.
Up the hall I'd inch, cursing the hard tile floor that dug into my flesh, dreading the moment when I arrived and my husband would have to haul me up into a sitting position on the throne. Afterward, exhausted by pain and the effort of travel, I'd rest on the bathroom floor before returning the way I'd come.
Once, worn down after several such trips, I started to cry. After days of mind-numbing boredom, I was looking forward to my favorite TV show. And I wasn't going to make it back to the bedroom in time.
My husband disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with a pillow and a miniature battery-powered TV we keep for emergencies. The next day, in one of several inventive but failed attempts at alternate transportation, he brought in the creeper from the garage and tried rolling me to the bathroom.
Now I read the discouraging news. It seems that backs weren't designed to last as long as we do these days. In fact, after the age of 25, the intervertebral discs start to degenerate and soften. Any sudden lift or strain -- or even straightening after bending down to pick up something as light as a newspaper -- can precipitate a prolapse or "slipped disc."
So the next time my dog wants up on the bed, I'm staying put. If he can't find room around me, there's always the bathroom floor.
Staff writer Marta Hepler Drahos can be reached at mdrahos@record-eagle.com.
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