Perpetually in the Waiting Room

So if my MRIs show no damage to my back why am I still in so much pain? The great mysterious lament of “BACK PAIN” is now on my medical history — a complaint vague enough to immediately cause suspicion of “drug seeking behavior.” Really, I have had enough hurdles lain in my path already. Really.

I have never sought nor wished to dally down a narcotic path.

Her name is LaKia.

But “back pain?” There have to be more stretches I can do or a secret phone number I could call. Something.

I have a new car at least. Let’s just focus on the new-to-me shiny for a moment.


I am recovering from a dual antibiotics whammy — I have made intense note to never take Flagyl and Cipro together again. Alone, they each have their own valid complaints with various working systems of your body. Together, they are an unstoppable coup upon one’s corporal sanity. Spending a week in bed is only novel when you maintain the ability to get up.

It is a vexed consciousness that comes with the wane of any illness. I am able, after ten days, to now do the things I needed to do a week ago. Easy general life tasks like “pay that bill” or “refill that prescription” have fallen dangerously wayside in this quick interim.

Tomorrow I can wake to a fresh business day and call my doctor’s office.

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