The back story - lessons from a wilful spine

By Virginia Winder

Izzy the smoocher, caused me to trip.

Each time I’ve had a back injury, I’ve been taught a lesson.

The first time last August after a slip on the back deck and an injury that threatened bladder control, I learnt about trust.

I had to hand myself over to the medical people – the nurses, ED doctors, air ambulance folk and neurosurgeons. They fixed me up fine and sent me home, my water works intact.

During a non-painful recovery period I learnt about patience, about the importance of inner core exercises and the wonders of pelvic floor workouts. I rested. I read. I recuperated and I also worked. I was determined this incident would have little or no impact on my output.

Then on January 28, I hurt my back again. This time in a Pilates class and, as the days went by, the pain from a compressed sciatic nerve became worse and worse.

Once again my patience was tested. But more than that, so was my endurance. This event led to three-and-a-half months of pain that sometimes hit the 10 out of 10 mark. I survived. I can even say I thrived.

Again, I was able to work, to write lying down, do many interviews standing up and I just gritted my teeth and got on with it. We don’t know what we can handle until it’s handed to us.

I had to rest a lot because lying down eased the pressure on the nerve. As a result of that, and repetitively doing mindfulness meditations, I became extremely laid back. The opiates I was on probably helped too.

When I recovered, after another surgery in Wellington, I still felt laid back. Life was good and I was just cruising along. But there was something missing – adrenalin.

Instead of being hyped up by deadlines, I was meeting them with ease and still felt as laid back as a hippy on holiday in Hawaii (I do love alliteration). I just had no urgency, and weirdly, stories were proving ridiculously easy to write.

Then I went to a writer’s group and one of my mentors gently, subtly pointed out that maybe I was a little off my game. I didn’t get upset (too laid back for that), I went away and reflected. I knew I was lacking something. Some edge. The ability to lose myself so totally in words that nothing else exists.

The rogue washing basket I shouldn't have carried.

Then last Tuesday I was carrying a heavy washing basket down the hallway when I tripped on the cat. I shouldn’t have been carrying the washing basket anyway, but obviously, there was more for me to learn. I went to bed feeling a little troubled because my back didn’t feel so good.

In the middle of the night I got up to the loo and I felt pains shoot down my right leg. “Oh shit,” I thought, memories of those months of pain flooding back in an instant.

The next afternoon I hung out at the Ozone Bean Store with a couple of photographer mates. We shot the breeze and I felt increasingly uncomfortable – not because of them, but because of my back. They left and after doing some work, I hobbled for the door.

I started walking up nearby stairs and could barely lift each leg because my back was going into spasm. Half way to the car, I was hit by pain so bad I thought I was going to pass out. An embarrassing mental image of being tended to by ambulance officers in public, pushed me on. Through white face and gritted teeth I limped to the car.

At home, I staggered inside, lay on the bed and called my husband to come home. “You need to take me to A&E.”

I went straight in and put on a bed. Great service, I must say. There, the doctor from Florida decided – rightly – that this injury was muscular. Yes, it did have some of the same symptoms as my previous incidents, but this felt different.

After just three hours (pretty damn fast for A&E), I was sent home with Warren as my nurse. He stayed home to look after me because I couldn’t get out of bed by myself.

But this time, I discovered I couldn’t be laid back any more. The more sedentary I was, the worse I felt.

Also, I had to push myself through two major deadlines on Saturday and Sunday and it felt fantastic. I had adrenalin. I couldn’t lay about; I was active and on to it.

So there it is, the back story is I’ve found my words, my verve, my edge. When I wrote my garden page and stories for another publication, I lost myself in the words. Even this blog is from that “other” place that brings me as much joy as finding flowers to photograph.

My back gets better day by day now.

Now I have a message to my wilful spine – I’ve learnt my lessons thanks. Get back where you belong.