ow, my face
Mar. 11th, 2025 05:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impyUgh, I hate spring for so many reasons but the biggest one is that after I turned 30, the weather has basically taken a baseball bat to my sinuses. Allergies became a thing and spring (don't give me that shit about it technically being winter still. I live on the coast, this is spring. The tourists from the midwest are already here enjoying their pretty weather.) rainy days run a serious risk of making it feel like my face is going to fall off or explode. Some rainy days are lovely and I can enjoy them without a care in the world, assuming I hadn't needed to go out and do anything. Other rainy days are basically spent with me trying to calculate how much time I have before the Benadryl coma comes into play, or if I can even play that game at all. Like last night I went to bed early, hoping that when I woke up my low level headache would go away. It did not. It got progressively worse and while I did worry I'd mistimed my caffeine (to be fair, I probably did), I know for a fact it's a sinus thing because when I flung my arm over my eyes and whined to the cat about the state of my face, it immediately felt better.
So just go back to bed with something draped over your eyes now that you've drugged and caffeinated yourself, you might say. I cannot. Widget has PT this morning and for some reason my brother scheduled the appointment but didn't do so for a time he was willing to do the driving. I don't know why. Maybe there wasn't much of a choice, maybe Widget chose, maybe something else I'm too out of it to think of. It ticks me off that his parents do less than the bare fucking minimum and want a goddamn parade for doing that much, and will act like they do so much meanwhile Mom's the one making him milkshakes because some well meaning nurse made a comment about milkshakes being the best medicine, and I'm washing his hair and it's just argh.
Dunno if you know this, though I bet you do, but he is not a good patient. I understand that I do not fully understand how much it sucks to break your wrist and dislocate your elbow in a way that's unusual to the point that when you go in for your MRI at the place that specializes in MRIs they can't do it because they don't have a coil long enough to accommodate the splint setup you've got going on and trying to do so with a shorter coil would fuck your elbow up again. I don't. Of the two of us, my brother broke more bones and I think his were mostly his collarbone, twice, and a finger or two when he tried to punch me and I sidestepped it and he hit the cabinet or fridge instead. (Seriously, one day he's gonna tell that story and it will finally click in his head that his broken fingers do not make him the victim of that story. They just illustrate instant karma.) I'm the one who had to have their baby teeth pulled because my teeth were/are weird and didn't come in quite right. So no, I don't know the joy of a fucked up arm, nor do I really care to know it, honestly. I feel bad for him and I understand that his injury means he can't do a lot of stuff I'm used to him doing and a good chunk of the stuff he WANTS to do. But pity parties in the common areas are to be kept short and with a minimum of attitude.
Anyway, tl;dr: Spring weather hit me in the face with a cast iron skillet, Rapunzel style, and I'm being dragged against my will to Widget's PT appointment so I can't even coma myself for awhile to be free of the pain.
So just go back to bed with something draped over your eyes now that you've drugged and caffeinated yourself, you might say. I cannot. Widget has PT this morning and for some reason my brother scheduled the appointment but didn't do so for a time he was willing to do the driving. I don't know why. Maybe there wasn't much of a choice, maybe Widget chose, maybe something else I'm too out of it to think of. It ticks me off that his parents do less than the bare fucking minimum and want a goddamn parade for doing that much, and will act like they do so much meanwhile Mom's the one making him milkshakes because some well meaning nurse made a comment about milkshakes being the best medicine, and I'm washing his hair and it's just argh.
Dunno if you know this, though I bet you do, but he is not a good patient. I understand that I do not fully understand how much it sucks to break your wrist and dislocate your elbow in a way that's unusual to the point that when you go in for your MRI at the place that specializes in MRIs they can't do it because they don't have a coil long enough to accommodate the splint setup you've got going on and trying to do so with a shorter coil would fuck your elbow up again. I don't. Of the two of us, my brother broke more bones and I think his were mostly his collarbone, twice, and a finger or two when he tried to punch me and I sidestepped it and he hit the cabinet or fridge instead. (Seriously, one day he's gonna tell that story and it will finally click in his head that his broken fingers do not make him the victim of that story. They just illustrate instant karma.) I'm the one who had to have their baby teeth pulled because my teeth were/are weird and didn't come in quite right. So no, I don't know the joy of a fucked up arm, nor do I really care to know it, honestly. I feel bad for him and I understand that his injury means he can't do a lot of stuff I'm used to him doing and a good chunk of the stuff he WANTS to do. But pity parties in the common areas are to be kept short and with a minimum of attitude.
Anyway, tl;dr: Spring weather hit me in the face with a cast iron skillet, Rapunzel style, and I'm being dragged against my will to Widget's PT appointment so I can't even coma myself for awhile to be free of the pain.