Greetings From Hillbilly Mom's House of Pain

Stop that! It's not a new hillbilly S & M venture. It means I am in
my mansion, hurting. Hurting OH SO BADLY. Yet I still know
how to use an adverb, if not proper sentence structure.

I have managed to injure my knee, though I don't know how. Do
not suggest old age. I had surgery on this knee twice in the last
century. I know there is a fragment of cartilage jammed in there.
That's why it hurts. This has happened before, though it is usually
jammed on the side, and now it's jammed right in the middle.
It normally runs its course in 4 or 5 days. The swelling goes
down, and the piece moves on to float the lazy river of my
synovial fluid until the next attack.

I am trying to be a good hillbilly and conform to the ICE therapy.
Which of course is ice, compression, elevation. Actually, I am
doing fairly well with the IE, but not the C, because I hate those
elastic wrap thingies that never stay where you want them to
unless you fasten them tight as a tourniquet, which I really think
is frowned upon in medical circles unless you are bleeding from
the femoral artery or some such tragedy.

It is OH SO PAINFUL to sit, get up, lie down, walk, etc.
So I have taken some medication without my name on the
prescription. Please don't compare me to Rush Limbaugh.
My Hillbilly Mama had some hydrocodone left from her
dental emergency, and passed it on to me. She's my supplier.
I think that's the same ingredient that's in my sweet, sweet,
Histinex. And in the fake Vicodin that I had after my surgery
where I woke up in the middle of the operation. Ahh...
Good times. But this stuff is making me nauseous. For one
hour of pain relief, I get 3 1/2 hours of nausea. So far. I
haven't decided if it's worth it yet. Hillbilly Mom doesn't
miss many meals.

I hate it when this happens. I hate the grindy feeling of the innards
of my knee when I stand up. I hate the sudden weakness that
signals me to grab onto something before that leg collapses.
I hate the dragging of the leg through the house to do my chores.
I hate the lack of sympathy from my Hillbilly Husband, who has
had the same thing happen to him, except that I waited on him
hand and foot, and he had crutches and his own prescription of
pain medicine, and MRIs, and laid in bed whining that he was
dying, and eventually had surgery.

Now that I've vented, and made it into a post so I don't have to
think up a real topic to blog about today, I am feeling very much
the same. Who knew? I thought that was supposed to make you
feel better. I am now going upstairs to prop some ice on my
elevated knee, perhaps shed a few tears from the intense pain,
contemplate whether another illegal dose of painkiller is worth
the nausea, and enjoy the peace while the rest of the family is
in the pool. If I start up the steps right now, I just might make
it by Friday.