Can't win for losing ...

My rotation for physio is Monday of one week and Wednesday of the following week (there's a reason ...).

Last week, I went in on the Monday; so this week's turn is Wednesday.

My physiotherapist has been applying "athletes' tape" to my hips the past couple of sessions.

With wonderful success, too.

The taping lasts from five to seven days, depending on activity.

I'm still new to the taping process so we weren't even sure that I'd get any relief from it.

It's really quite amazing, the benefit I get from it.  Too bad it doesn't last longer though.

On Sunday morning, I woke and was aware that the tape would have to be removed; walking was quite painful after having enjoyed several days of  an "almost normal" gait, and the tape was getting quite unsightly.  So I tore it off as I headed into the shower.

And it's been all downhill from there.

My hip pain progressed throughout the day, dragging me down with each hour.

The TENs machine was called into action again after not being needed while I was at home (I had stopped using it unless I was going out and about).

The pain prevented me from putting my mind into a genealogical project that I've been trying to finish for some time now (and I'd really like to get it off my plate so I can get back to my own tree again).

Sunday night, I took a sleeping aid on my way to bed because I was getting too far behind in the sleep department.

That little ruse left me feeling groggy all day today, in addition to the rising pain in my hip (for some reason, my right hip continues to emanate greater discomfort than the more seriously arthritic left hip).

So again, I wasn't able to put my mind to that genealogical project that sits waiting for me to apply myself (it is so close to complete, if I could just "get to it").

I languished on that stupid sofa for a good part of the day, even falling into a deep sleep at one point (OK, at two points, maybe three).

And the TENs machine burned through two batteries (it sucks its way through those things at an unbelievable rate!).

By dinner time, the cold sweats had appeared.  It was not cold in the house but I was freezing, with sweat pouring down my face.  (My doctor warned me last week that I might continue to experience mild symptoms of  withdrawal for a couple of months, most likely in times of "stress" -- ie high pain or lack of sleep.)

And as we sat watching the ballgame, I commented to John that "my leg is throbbing like it needs to be cut off."  He hasn't heard that lament in a very long time.   Until now, I've resisted using anything for pain, other than the TENs machine.  But I popped a Codeine Contin and headed off to bed (yes, during the third inning again!). 

In spite of having taken that painkiller that is supposed to last for twelve hours, here I am, awake -- two hours later, right on schedule.

And my leg is throbbing like it needs to be cut off.   Because apparently, I can't win for losing.

But Wednesday will soon be here and new strapping will be applied then.