Sometimes we just need to know we are going to be OK
After a busy weekend of Honey Get Done’s, I happily went to sleep Sunday night with Deann and the kids back and sound asleep in their beds. They had been in Texas for the past week with their grandparents. It was a busy week of work and more work with some time set aside to catch up.
Monday morning, I woke up to a finger in my ear and a warm mass “C” clamped to my body (Quickly, I realized it was my 4-year-old son, Gavin). My first thought, ‘When did he come in?’ My immediate next thought was, ‘Why can’t I move or it at least why does it hurt when I try?’ I am not medical, but come from a medical family. I was an athlete and personal trainer in a previous life and even attended Physical Therapy School 11 years ago. Long story short, I feel like I have a decent understanding of the human anatomy and what happens when someone is hurt.
So what happened next? Instead of leaning on my experience, I lost all perspective and thought I was dying. Of course, I did what most of us do (except Deann, my lovely wife, she is the toughest person I have ever met.) I slowly leaned forward, unclamped Gavin from my body and slowly and painfully rolled out of bed on to me knees. With my hands on the bed, I picked up my leg that worked properly and then grunted pushing myself to my feet.
Holy cow, I was dying, and the worst part was my brain was working a million miles an hour trying to figure out what I did to myself. I am a pretty perceptive person when it comes to moves and the repercussions of said moves. On Sunday, I pushed mowed for three hours, folded a bunch of laundry, trying to clean up the bachelor pad that was our house before Deann and the kids got home, cleaned the kitchen, made the bed and then picked up some sticks in the yard, all this stuff I have done a million times. Well, ok the mowing especially — I don’t usually get to do laundry much. Seems it had something to do with a bunch of white clothes that were now pink due to this pesky red towel.
I stumbled to the kitchen while starring at my phone for the time and started the coffee. 5:30 a.m. This is normal, but what wasn’t normal about this morning was I was biding my time before I called my dad, Dr. Green, to get his thoughts and help. So, I ran upstairs, very gingerly and got to work. Life goes on, right? (That is what my dad always says, same man that came to work after breaking four ribs.) But, I have to admit, I must have looked at my phone 50 times before the magic time of 7:30 a.m. The second it turned over, I hit the button and the phone started trilling (that is what closed captioning calls it). This wonderful voice on the other end of the phone, said “Yes…What’s Up?” Then diarrhea of the mouth came over me. This calm voice on the other end of the phone said, “What did you do?” Diarrhea of the mouth continued, just picture the previous paragraph and multiple by 10 and add some beeps.
Next step, go see him, get a good exam and see what is really going on. At the end of it, there wasn’t a magic moment saying this is exactly what is wrong and this is how we are going to “fix” you, but there was something that I have remembered every time that I have seen him. “You are okay, and it is going to be worse tomorrow, but WILL get better over the next six weeks.”
What a relief, I am not dying! But wait a second, it is going to get worse and will take 6 weeks to get better? We are going to try some ice and Advil and go from there. My point is sometimes we are scared that why we hurt is going to impact the rest of our lives, jobs and ability to provide for our family. I am on day two as I write this and one thing he was absolutely right about: It was going to be worse tomorrow morning. Take the original morning story and quadruple it. But those words, you will be okay and it will be worse before it gets better let me know I am okay and to keep moving.
At Work Health Solutions our job is to help you stay at work safely so that you can earn a paycheck and provide for your family. At the end of the day that is what we all need to do. Life is about motion.
Thanks Dad, I hate that you are almost always right, but I respect the heck out of you for it. Thank you for all that you do for me, our company and the people we serve.