I've been feeling some discomfort lately. And no, it has nothing to do with a girl— that has been going on for months now. It has everything to do with my back.
In 2016, I had some spinal compression. It's when the bones in my spinal column aren't adequately spaced and, as a result, the nerves coming out of my spinal cord are squeezed depending on how my body is positioned. The initial effect was that my left arm, up to my fingers, feel a tingling sensation. At its worst, the top part of my left pectoral muscles would spasm and cramp and the whole of my left arm would be numb. I had to undergo therapy for that and I got fixed.
It's back now. At least the pain and the numbness. But the condition is different this time around.
Last week, I had to go get myself in an MRI exam the results of which, I took to my physical medicine specialist yesterday. What she told me was that the disks between three of my vertebrae are almost touching my spinal cord because they are out of place. But that is when I'm stationary. When I move, one or more of those disks actually do, shall we say, hit a nerve. The doctor and I do have a plan to fix that, though. I start a six session therapy programme tomorrow and we go from there. Where depends on how I feel in two weeks.
It's easy to say that I got this from what I had been doing these last few months. Mayor— although I don't know how serious he is— feels guilty for having me do stuff during our company team building last month. Nothing is his fault, of course! I'm also thinking that I may have been extra hard on myself on the football field. The Sunday games aren't really a problem but the Kings of SOL tournament at the end of last month may be a different story.
I regret nothing.
We may have not gotten the gold as was my goal but it was exhilarating and gratifying and ultimately satisfying to be there, be with old friends, make new friends, share all sorts of experiences and memories. Be at my best. And have something to show for it regardless of the place we earned and the colour of the medals that we get to keep.
Like the wounds that have since become scabs and then little scars; this problem will run its course. And I will get to compete another day, doing the same pre-game ritual that started from there: say a short prayer, whisper a name that I don't think I'm allowed to say out loud, and kiss my gloves at the knuckles.
Things will work out— like how this post about a back problem still ended up being about a girl.