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, assess range of motion.

It takes some time for the water to run hot - I have the handle turned the wrong way. While I wait, my thoughts go rogue: it is Saturday night in a foreign country; there is no one to call to help me. Even my own chiropractor thousands of miles away will not answer the phone to talk me through fixing this. I should book an appointment with him when I get back. I desperately want a drink. Wine, cocktail, it does not matter. Funny how things can go wrong in an instant.

The water warms up, the problems fall back in line. Is the roof bar open? Can I walk up the stairs? Can I walk back down...maybe I should take a walk down the street and see how it feels. Find food. A farmacia. What's the strongest drug I can buy over the counter here? I keep the water as hot as I can stand it, and bend in all the ways I am able. I take note of which muscles are functioning, which are giving me the finger.

I step out of the shower with my right, but putting weight on the left sends a wave of pain though my back and hip. I stop, stand still. Can I live without dinner tonight, my last night in Rome? Too soon to decide. Advil. Four isn't enough, but I'm not comfortable taking more in case I find that drink. I pull out the panties I had set aside for tomorrow. My right leg slides in. Ok, it's a start. I lift my left, nope. I need to sit down for this. Can I sit down? I find that I can. Momentary panic, can I get back up again? Tested and proven, I sit back down, side the panties over my left leg, stand back up. Retrieve my pants from the bathroom, sit down and repeat. My hair is wet; the Italians will not approve. I do not care. I am in too much pain to care.