Days are long. Nights even longer. I try to fill the painful hours with snooker on the TV. I paint a lot, slow movements of the brush, every drop of paint is a sign of pain.
Sciatica. Three weeks, each day getting worse. Last week I could walk a hundred meters, yesteraday ten. Weekly visits to the doctor with taxi, it’s impossible to use the bus.
Still strength in the muscles. Not yet time for operation. Maybe time heals.
I hope so.
The nerve ache stretches my leg funnily. I look at my leg, tell it to carry me to the toilet. It isn’t so co-operative.
Hasty minutes at the computer. A few words. A glimpse at other people’s blogs. Then the pain gets me going again. Limping around the rooms. Sitting after five steps. Trying to find a position to sleep for some moments.
Wondering should I call the ambulance now. Is the pain horrible enough? It is, but I don’t dial emergency. I want to stay home. I want to paint, to crochet, to forget the pain. In a hospital bed I’d have too much time to think.
Thinking makes pain worse.