Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Ice is Nice

My new start every day?  To start doing stuff the doctor orders, even if I don't like it.  I kind of like to do things my own way until I realize they're not working.  Then I go to those people who like to think they know it all: the doctors.

I tend to have selective hearing, especially when it comes to treatment that leaves me cold.  Literally.  I am a big hater of anything cold.  Cold weather.  Cold compresses. The common cold.   Heck, I don't even like cold water.  I'll take mine hot with lemon any day.

As I've been making my slow trudge toward recovery after a traumatic and invasive back surgery, I've been pampering my back in every way imaginable: propping her up with corsets, applying balms and anti-scarring creams to her marred surface, giving her massages, letting her lie on heating pads, stretching her out on balance balls...ad infinitum.  She's been getting more attention than a new girlfriend on Valentine's Day.

Even so, the recovery has been slow and my pain has been significant.

Yet somehow, until the other day, I somehow didn't hear the recommendation that ice might actually do me some good.  Ice is for eaves, I say; ice is for grape Fanta on hot, humid days; ice is for cream.  Ice is NOT for my highly sensitive skin that cries out for hot baths and down duvets and sun-drenched beaches.

Though apparently ice is good for cubes and for what ails you when it comes to an aching back.  When my physio reminded me of the miraculous properties of H2O that changes form when frozen, I sniffed at her.  No, really, I said. I preferred heat.  No, really, she retorted.  Ice is better.  I think not, I responded.  Fine then, she said.

And it wasn't until yesterday, in a fit of exquisite pain, that I gave in and went to the freezer in search of ice.  A freezer, of course, is where one might expect to find ice, and maybe even an ice pack. Not in our house.  I did, however, find about 16 bags of frozen corn that my daughter has every night for her bedtime snack.  Yes, while I feast on the popped version, she imbibes in the frozen kind.  I popped (not literally) a half-eaten bag into a Ziploc and nestled it into the small of my back.

And what do you think happened?  Relief!  Relief in a way that heat hadn't provided.  Relief in a way that as the corn melted, so did my pain.  Relief that gave me some hope that with enough frozen corn and Ibuprofen I may just be able to make my way back to work on Monday.

Now so long as my students don't mind a bag of frozen corn duct-taped to my body, I think I may be in fighting form!

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