It starts as a vague, dull, ache: the kind that can be easily brushed off. But the sensation of dread quickly mounts as its signature changes. Oh god, it's been what - 2, 3 years since this happened last? But all that happy-body in-between time collapses into nothing as the memory from before is so vivid, it is as though it happened only yesterday.
I shift around and think, maybe if I just change my position I can short-circuit it. I've just been sitting too long too often lately. I mentally pat my back on the head, sort of like how you do a car that's threatening to stall and you try to encourage it to make just a little bit further so you can park in safety. I rub that spot, just under my left shoulder blade, to hopefully calm the muscle down.
But no, a half hour later and the awful spasmey rhythm increases in amplitude: rather than a persistent kind of tension it turns into a moment of ache, and then a rest, then another ache, and a rest. I envision the poor muscle, located somewhere in the wee areas between my ribs (as a physical therapist explained once to me). I managed to stress it out somehow, and I have to battle my native inclination to do some stretching to work it out for past experience has taught me, that only Makes It Worse.
God, I've only got two more tasks to do and then I can take you home, I tell my body, and lie down. Just give me another hour. I swallow down about a thousand milligrams of ibuprofin that Rich offers. But it's no good. Another half hour later and I'm incapable of sitting still; my whole body tenses up as the muscle strengthens its grip on a nerve and when it lets go, I'm practically panting in relief. I manage to make it through one of my tasks, jump up and suddenly announce I've got to go. I probably should have left earlier because now the drive back to Mountain View - thankfully not in rush hour traffic - is heinous.
At home I make a beeline for the bathroom where the heating pad is kept, grab some Doan's and the bottle of ibuprofin, a large glass of water, and make my camp on the couch. It still hurts like hell, but the heating pad helps, as does lying as still as humanly possible. Everything else: bathroom breaks, trying to sit up and eat at the table in a semblance of normality, taking a deep breath, sucks.
I'm not myself. I have no sense of humor. I have no patience. I have a completely and utterly one-track mind: to be on the heating pad and resting, and whatever interferes with that is like an enemy to me. I know that my routine will get this spasm to calm down in quick time without heavy pharmaceuticals.
I don't know where this damned spasm came from. There was a time once, several years ago, when I was trying everything short of going on heavy muscle-relaxing drugs, to get relief. I tried out acupuncture. I went to a physical therapist. We had family visiting from overseas, and I wanted to be up doing things with them, so as soon as I'd have a good day I'd return to bouncing around doing whatever, just to have the damned pain flare back up again and return me to my writhing, prone position. It was, like, just kill me now and get it over with.
Finally, after I think a couple of weeks, I gave in and went to the doctor; I didn't care anymore - I'd take whatever they gave me. And thank the gods, she gave me some heavy-duty muscle relaxers. And the most excellent advice: "lay down, and stay down for a week, no matter how good you feel." The muscle relaxers put me to sleep, and in a mostly unconscious state I remained for several days, which quite helped me to follow the advice of not getting up and moving around like I would have wanted to had I been more aware.
Luckily, now I know that the most effective medicine is the lying still (as much as I dislike it, when I feel just fine) for a couple of days. If I catch it at the quick, and distract myself with bad TV or computer games, the body heals itself and I can let the heavy medicine be. And I guess that, as much as I hate that muscle spasm when it happens, I'm grateful for that, at least.
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