Holiday weekends are not the best time to throw your back out or get an illness of any kind. The options are to either wait for hours in an over-crowded emergency room to get a drug strong enough to knock you out until the pain goes away, or stay home and suffer through it until your doctor is back in the office. I opt to suffer. I am stupid.

The last time I experienced a muscle spasm this severe was about ten years ago, when I was playing a lot of tennis and doing very little stretching. Except that spasm was a bit more severe, making it impossible to even turn over in bed. And that time, I was smart enough to go straight to the emergency room, and within a few hours, was at home on the couch in the dreamy haze of Demerol. Ah, Demerol. Demerol kicked that spasms ass.

This spasm is not as severe. I have a bit of mobility. I can walk, with a lot of pain and discomfort, but I can walk. I can also put on my shoes and socks, though it takes me a good five minutes and the exercise leaves me panting in pain. I can stand, though not straight. My right hip is about six inches higher than my left hip, and this gives me a strange Quasimodo look and his exact gait. Standing still is bad. Squatting is okay, but as soon as I stand, the pain settles in and radiates through my pelvis and down the fronts of my legs all the way to my ankles.

Day one. Sunday. New Year's Eve. I attempt a walk around the neighborhood. Walking is supposed to good for stiff backs, but this walk is mercilessly painful. Maybe walking is only good for people who have painful backs and aligned hips. I pass a Qi Gong massage parlor and go in for a thirty-minute massage, and the masseuse easily talks me into an hour. The massage feels good but does nothing except show my how incredibly stubborn my back muscles can be, and that this is war.

That evening, I recline in the passenger seat of a rental car with my niece in the backseat and my boyfriend driving, on our way to New Jersey to return my niece home. In New Jersey, I use my brother's inversion table (the whole family is plagued by back pain), a device which hangs you upside down by your feet, taking all the pressure off your back and allowing blood flow and space between the vertebrae of your spine. Ahh, blood flows and space. I float off the inversion table feeling no pain. Three minutes later, radiating and sharp pain return.

We drive on from my brother's to a New Year's Eve party. The logic: if you're going to suffer, why not suffer in good company. And my shirt is loose enough to hide the Quasimodo look. I down a few quick drinks, and pretend I can stand straight, or that the raised hip is a strange affectation. Denial, old friends and liquor do wonders for back pain. I still need assistance in and out of the car, and once in the passenger seat, it would take a miracle for me to be able to reach the door handle and close the car door, but it is a fun party and I'm glad I came. The next day, I'm worse.

Day two. Monday, New Year's Day. I grit my teeth and watch a lot of television, thinking about Tuesday when everyone will be back to work and I can see a doctor, get drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Drugs.

Day three. Tuesday. My regular doctor is out of the office one more day, but my chiropractor will see me. On the way to the chiropractor's office, I hold my breath through the subway tunnels, willing myself to make it four more stops, three more stops. I exit the subway with the elderly and disabled, make a slow march up the subway stairs to the street at the rear of the line. In the chiropractor's office, I cannot stop talking about painkillers and how desperately I want them. Or a swift punch in the face. It is the only thing that will come out of my mouth. He applies electric stimulation to loosen the muscles, does some minor adjustments, feels around the base of my spine and tells me my spine has gone scoliatic (curved). See, I want to stand straight, but my spine won't let me. I don't feel any better, but it was nice having a doctor to complain to.

That night, I put out an APB for prescription meds of any kind, and wind up with Immitrex, a drug used for migraines. I pop it and wait. I get hazy. I fall asleep. It sort of does the job of knocking me out.

Day four. Wednesday. I beg an appointment with my regular doctor, dreaming of a maximum dose of painkillers that would allow me to pass the next few days in a stupor. This also means another crippling trip on the subway, but I would do anything for drugs at this point.

My doctor prescribes muscle relaxants and steroids, which I fill immediately, and pop my first muscle relaxant in the backseat of the cab. Sweet relief. I wait for the druggy haze to descend, for my body to feel light and tingly. Getting out of the cab in Brooklyn, I only feel the same pain, zero relief, and a little sleepy. Three days, three hours and forty-eight minutes. I had waited this long to hold the bottle of pills that would save me, and the odds of them doing so were going down by the minute. I've reached my threshold for pain. I want my mommy. I consider doubling or tripling the dose of muscle relaxants and call a pharmacist friend to ask if this is advisable. It is not. Liquor? She says no.

Day five. Not much better, but I make it into work and I can eat sitting up. I visit the chiropractor again. When I get home, my mood is better. I must be in less pain, though is pain something to be quantified or something that is either bearable or unbearable?

Day six. Some improvement. I go to work. I go to dinner with friends. That night, I realize both were big mistake and that I should never attempt dinner conversation in a spastic condition.

Day seven. Isn't this how long it took for God to create heaven and earth? The muscles around the main area of pain have let go, and the radiating pain is gone. But now I've got an acute, concentrated pain in the right side of my lower back and I'm still crooked, scoliatic, frustrated and flat on my back as I write this.

Three days beyond my threshold for pain. And if you've made it this far, I'm sure you've reached your threshold for reading about someone in pain. And I don't blame you one bit. If I can't make dinner conversation in a spastic condition, neither should I be blogging. I got an MRI and acupuncture this morning, but I'll save that for another post. I've got hours ahead of me and only one movie to watch.