Ah, Sweet Relief

I have discovered, like scads of others on the planet, the wonders of muscle relaxers! Up until now I've only associated them with humorous references to prescription drug addictions in sitcoms and movies, but now, after my first treatment, I can understand their seductive allure!

I went to the doctor yesterday and got loaded up, as it were. I walked out (slowly and as though I were made of glass but on my own strength) with four scripts in my hand! One for inflammation, one for relaxation, one for pain eradication, and one for an X-ray in the event my lovely remedies don't do the trick.


But, trust me, they are. I got a good night's sleep last night, unlike the night before when I kept The Viking up all night, too, with my tossing and whimpering. I tried sleeping sitting up, sitting in the recliner, propping pillows all around my head like a custom-made, velvet-lined case, all to no avail. But one giant horsepillesque muscle relaxer made all the difference and I slept like...well...like a woman on muscle relaxers.

I haven't actually taken the heavy duty one yet. I'm reserving that for when the pain is really bad. Like at EGOD's birthday luncheon this afternoon. Ha, I jest, surely I do. Not that the luncheon won't necessarily warrant the use of heavy narcotics, just that I would not abuse my prescriptions in such a manner.


We are celebrating EGOD's 90th birthday today. I feel I must repeat, the above image is not an actual photo of her, it's just a bloody good representation of what she's like. She's a charmer, that woman. We juggle and manoeuvre things to try and keep the children from being near her too much and that is hard to do during big family meals. Actually, it's a fortunate thing we have two members of the family who don't terribly mind sitting hear her and are usually willing to take one for the team: Lenny and The Viking. Notice it's the two grandsons-in-law, the ones who aren't related by blood, who are willing to endure the talking with the mouth full and, inevitably, subsequent spitting of food, the frequent complaints and nagging, whiny, disparaging comments about everything, and having to translate between her and the waitstaff. We Granddaughters think it's because they don't have the family history or emotional baggage we have. They say it's also because they find it slightly hilarious to keep filling her wine glass and sit back and watch the show. So, one of them will probably bite the bullet for us again.

Sigh. These dinners are exhausting. Sure, it's an excuse for the rest of us to gather and enjoy a nice meal (provided EGOD is not permitted to choose the venue), but you never know what kind of mood she's going to be in and it takes an awful lot of concentration and emotional energy to navigate through these events. Hmmm...maybe I will take a painkiller and let people think I've simply had too much wine.

On that note, I'm off to try to shower and do my hair so I might need to pop another muscle relaxer. Or, alternatively, it may be a nice day to wear a hat.