Ouch!

Moving hurts.

It isn't just the uprooting, the change in routine, the realization that you haven't yet read a third of the books you purchased, or that you've got a box of clothes that don't quite fit (although that is a bit painful to the ego) - there's physical pain, too!

Luckily I've avoided the dreaded cardboard cuts (the heftier, more lethal version of paper cuts). However, even though I don't own a lot of heavy items, and even though I've been really careful not to pack boxes too heavy, and even though I "lift with my knees, not with my back!" I hurt myself.

During all of the crouching, reaching, bending, stretching, and twisting, my back has decided to protest.

I was fine last night, and fine this morning - that is, until I stepped out of the shower. We have a large claw-foot tub (good-bye, tub! I'll miss you!) and it's quite a big step to get out of it. I guess that was the last straw. I bent to dry my legs and - OUCH! The first shot of pain I almost didn't believe.

That was weird, I thought.

Then: Ah! Oh! Ooh! Eeeh!

You know you're in trouble when it hurts to breathe.

Luckily, after a few hours lying in bed (and many ibuprofen later) the pain had subsided enough that I could get to work. Maybe I should have stayed home, I don't know. But I'm not a very good invalid. It's one thing to choose to lay around in bed all day. That's enjoyable laziness. It's another matter entirely when forced to do it.

As long as I practice good posture and refrain from making sudden movements, I'm OK.

Is it time for more meds, yet?