Getting old is hell....

Over the course of the holidays I hurt my back, somewhere around my shoulder blades. I'm not sure what the cause was specifically. I wish I could attribute it to a night of wild, passionate acrobatic and contortionistic sex with a nice furry bear (imagine that post!), but I think it was sleeping in the twin's old spare bed from his bachelor days. This wasn't helped by my lifting weights at the gym and a week in hotel beds the week before last. Monday, I felt a muscle in my back spasm and I nearly couldn't make it to work.

So, after much whinning and bitching at the office, my coworkers forced me to make a doctor's appointment (a few chat buddies, yes I mean you cincycub and fritzsea encouraged me to do the same).

My doctor's office is a family practice clinic with young interning doctors, so I only have the same physician for two years or so before getting bumped to another. I don't mind that, they may be inexperienced, but they have the most current knowledge and they are not afraid to pull in a more experienced doctor too.

I really wanted the cute dark-haired cubby doctor I passed in the doctors' office hallway, but got a young female doctor instead. She was a very pretty lady in a curvy, real woman sort of way, not like a vain, rail-thin supermodel. She pushed and poked around on my back and chest, twisted and pulled my arms certain ways, felt my back muscles as they moved around. After my description and her exam, she says I have a spasming muscle. Well, not a surprise on my part.

She offered to write me a prescription for anti-spasm meds, but said that their effectiveness is only so-so. I declined and she prescribed regular Advil for the week, stating the anti-inflammatory properties will cause the muscle to relax. No weight lifting for the week and only low-impact cardio.

I like her. Now only if she had prescribed cheesecake and chocolate ice cream....