Pain in a Foreign Land
It is my last night in Rome, and my back has me in agony. After a wonderful lazy lunch in Trastevere I lie down to rest, and feel the familiar pop of my lower back slipping out of place. My first thought is, "maybe it's not as bad as I expect it to be". Then I try to roll over, discover I can't, and think, "how will I fly home tomorrow?" Subsequent thoughts puddle jump over dinner, a train ride hauling my unreasonably heavy luggage (travel with chef knives, I dare you), and a bittersweet relief that my Italian friend is unlikely to follow through on our plans to meet this evening. Overwhelmed, I close my eyes in avoidance and drift into a fitful, shallow sleep. I come to consciousness in the place where problems fall into single file, lining up to be addressed one by one. Get upright. Find the muscles that function, identify those giving me the finger. Tasks break down into the tiniest of steps. Hot shower: step one, remove rings. Earrings. Shirt. Bra. Stop,...