Let's continue…
Why, oh why, do I always manage to do something to myself at the worst possible time?
Honestly, it’s like my signature move...a dramatic sigh, and BAM! Here comes another adventure in bad timing. So, what happened this time? Buckle up.
A couple of months ago—maybe three? I don’t even remember, I had a little oopsie. I collapsed and managed to hurt my ribs, back, and arm all at once. (I know, real multitasking pro here.) The first two weeks were rough, but the pain eventually faded, and I thought I was back in the game. I returned to work, taking it easy, working only with residents who didn’t need heavy lifting. Nothing too hard, right?
Fast forward, and my arm starts hurting. Not too bad at first, so I figured, “Eh, I probably just need to stretch or something.” I hadn’t done yoga in ages, so I thought that was the culprit. Naturally, I started yoga again to fix it. Guess what? My arm didn’t thank me, it rebelled!
Suddenly, there was this sharp, annoying pain in my arm, but did I stop? Of course not! Why? Because apparently, I think my body is invincible (spoiler: it’s not). Plus, we were moving to our new apartment, so I kept lifting stuff like I was competing for “World’s strongest woman.”
Next day, I worked my shift, went home, and my arm was SCREAMING in pain. I couldn’t move it, couldn’t lay on my side, couldn’t even chill on my back. It hurt like hell. But when I woke up, the pain had calmed a bit. So naturally, I went to work because, you know, making smart decisions isn’t my thing.
BIG mistake.
Two hours in, one of our residents (who’s about 100 kg, bless him) decided he could get out of bed on his own. Ammm, he can’t. And for the third time that week, I had to help lift him off the floor. It’s a team effort because, well, physics. But this time, we were short-staffed. Just three skinny girls trying to lift a human tank. Let’s just say it wasn’t our finest moment.
When we finally managed to get him up (thanks to our super-strong coworker for other floor), I felt this stab of pain in my arm. It was so bad, I almost screamed, but instead, two tears casually rolled down my cheeks. Lovely. My colleagues noticed and sent me home.
The next day, my husband dragged me to the doctor. I told the doc about my arm hurting for months, how I thought it was nothing, and how I kept pushing through. He stared at me like I had three heads and said, “You’ve been in pain for TWO MONTHS and didn’t think it was serious?!”
Me: “Uh... yeah? It was not so bad.”
Long story short, they sent me for an x-ray and ultrasound. My doctor gave me painkillers and strict orders: no lifting, no working, just REST. Fun!
So, here’s the drama. Of course, this all went down right when we were moving heavy furniture and painting the apartment.
How could I help? Well, I couldn’t lift anything, so I stuck to cleaning. Then the next day? Boom. New problem. My husband got sick. He still moved things, but the next day, he could just sleep.
Fantastic. So, there we were… me, his parents, two days to paint and clean, and me feeling useless. I couldn’t just sit there watching his parents do everything, so I grabbed a paintbrush and started painting—with my left hand, no less. I worked all day. By the time we finished and they left, I couldn’t move either of my hands. I popped a bunch of painkillers but had to be careful because, you know, epilepsy. Too many pills = bad idea.
Fast forward: We’re in the new apartment, but it looks like a tornado came through. Stuff everywhere, and we couldn’t clean or organize because, well, I couldn’t move, and my husband was still recovering. When he finally started feeling better, I told him, "As soon as I can move again, we’re cleaning and decorating. No way are you doing it all yourself—and let’s be honest, I’m not letting you decorate without me!"
But then, plot twist. We moved into a ground-floor apartment, and guess who lives above us? A lovely lady who—on our very first night there—introduced us to the soothing sound of her fridge. Yup. We’re lying in bed, trying to enjoy our first night, and suddenly… wuuuuuum for 20 minutes, then silence for 10. Over and over. It sounded like a coffee machine or dishwasher was running in our room. I couldn’t sleep, and we were losing it trying to figure out what was happening. Turns out, the lady’s fridge is right above our bedroom. Perfect.
So, we spent three nights sleeping in the living room, because she wasn’t home to deal with it, which only made my sore muscles worse. Turns out, I had a pulled muscle and now have to rest and wait for injections to kick in. Yay, me.
When she got back, we shoved a rubber shelf under the fridge to block the noise. It’s slightly better, and I finally slept in my own bed again.
I think the chaos is over now. Fingers crossed we can finally settle in. No more surprises, please!
On the bright side? I can write again! Sure, it hurts, but hey, no pain, no gain, right?
"Sometimes the worst things that happen in our lives can lead to the best things." – Paul Millsap.
With love, @tinabrezpike ❤️
Življenje je reševanje problemov :)
Trenutno jih ne rabim 😂 se glih sprašujem kako sva v 10 letih nabrala toliko stvari, saj pa živiva na 60 kvadratov 😂
Mi smo na 80. Ampak za te odvečne stvari imam dve ogromni sobi v hiši stare matere, ki pa sta že polni... 😎
Hah 😂 Midva še imava nekaj placa pri njegovih starših, ampak zgleda da bo to tudi kar hitro polno 😂 Res rabiva eno sobo samo za lego in hot wheels 😂
Zadnje čase gledam na smetišče :)
Tudi jaz 😂 dobro da imam kartico da lahko vozimo tukaj na smetisce zastonj 😂