Hipster

Those of you well-acquainted with me know that a certain relentlessness is one of my least-desirable traits.  I like to maintain standards and I won't go to bed until my to-do list is complete.  Were I the type to create manageable to-do lists, this might be a fine and even appealing personal feature.  Alas, I am not that person.  In fact, in a pinch, rather than adjust and reduce my standards I am prone to ratchet up my expectations.

So it was that last weekend my left hip felt a little sore, the kind of sore that women with 45 year-old hips might expect from life.  Years ago, a doctor had suggested that the soreness was likely bursitis.                                                                                                                            

When I felt the soreness this time around, I took note.  Then I concluded it wasn't sore enough for me to skip my regular trips to the gym.  So I ran my usual 5 miles on Saturday.  And I did that again on Sunday.  I took Monday off.  On Tuesday afternoon, when my hip ached in a more insistent fashion, I ordered the hip to quit complaining and I headed off to the gym.  Wednesday, when the hip grumbled even more, I ignored it and ran like the wind on my favorite elliptical.  To be fair, while I was on the elliptical my hip felt great.  It was only when I stopped running that the discomfort returned.

Thursday morning found me distinctly uncomfortable, with a sore left hip that no longer ached only when I walked upstairs.  Now it hurt when I walked at all.   When I tried to raise my leg to put on my tights that morning, I thought I might pass out the pain was so great.  Trying to get up a hill was excruciating.  Hmmm, I thought again.  Better make a doctor's appointment for next week and take it easy today.

T had been making that suggestion since Tuesday and so she gave me the thumbs up when I planned to take it easy on Thursday.  That "taking it easy" in my world entailed an afternoon of changing the sheets on two beds, washing and folding a couple loads of laundry, cleaning both bathrooms and making biscuits to go with the evening's supper may reflect a certain personality disorder on my part.

Thursday evening the pain in the hip made it impossible to find a comfortable position.  Walking hurt.  Standing hurt.  Sitting?  Painful.  When I finally fell into bed (a challenge because my bed is high off the floor), I couldn't find a comfortable way to sleep.  In fact, my hip hurt so much that I couldn't even roll over.  In the middle of the night, I hobbled to the bathroom and downed a truckload of ibuprofen.

Friday morning was rough, but I slowly crept to work (and my second floor classroom), called the doctor and kept up the ibuprofen.  After a miserable day of extreme discomfort, that afternoon I went to the doctor.  The pain I described alarmed her enough to fear that I had burst a bursa.  She ran a blood test to check for infection and then she threw in an X-ray to ensure that I hadn't fractured a bone.  Nothing burst or broken, I limped out the office with a serious anti-inflammatory prescription and orders to take it easy for the next 10 days.  No elliptical, no biking, no strenuous workouts, she ordered. 

I did so this weekend, likely because of T's help around the house as well as the fright I experienced on Friday.  The realization that I could barely walk, let alone walk up and down the stairs in my multi-story home with laundry facilities in the basement and a closet and playroom in the attic, was unsettling.  Add to that my second-story classroom in a building with no elevator and a job that demands the ability to be physically engaged and I was sufficiently scared this time around.  

It is to be hoped that at the ripe old age of 45 I can heed this advice for more than a weekend.