Hip

I began the New Year by screwing up my hip.
 
Maybe because I’m of A Certain Age, lots of folks assumed the injury came from a fall.  
 
The real culprit was a yoga pose.
 
Now, I love my teacher’s classes. The one I attend meets weekday mornings, which means that there’s usually less than half a dozen people there, so, more attention from the teacher.  Also, this instructor does asanas (poses) that I haven’t done with previous teachers.  As someone who gets easily bored, that last point is a huge plus. 
 
But here’s the other thing.  
 
My yoga teacher is also a bodybuilder.
 
And to that end of getting the class as strong as possible, she challenges us.  Usually I’m up for it because it’s fun to try different poses, although I think I know my limits.  Also, if a pose hurts, I always stop.
 
This is why I initially thought I had only tweaked something.  The pain was annoying, but mild enough that I went home and vacuumed the entire house, thinking that cleaning might “stretch out the muscle.”  
 
By dinnertime I knew that housework wasn’t going to be the cure.  This was a no-brainer conclusion because now
I couldn’t walk without limping.  Also, I couldn’t stand in one spot for more than five seconds without intense pain
​kicking in.   

Still, being a cock-eyed optimist, I came up with Plan B:  I was just going to rest for a few days.

I didn't have a heating pad, but I did have a heated electric throw.  Scrunching it up in a corner of the couch, I burrowed my hip into it.  I had icepacks, too, so alternated those with the blanket.  I also smeared on organic CBD oil.  Finally, I was gulping down 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen every four hours, which took the edge off of the pain, but never came close to taking it away. 

Three weeks passed.

I wasn't getting any better, but I had bought a heating pad.  (In retrospect, limping for nearly an hour through a huge supermarket for groceries wasn't the best idea.)

In fact, I was in so much pain after the shopping adventure that I called the Hubster, crying.  He was out of town, and he knows that I'm not a complainer.  He offered to take a flight home the next morning to take care of me, a suggestion I didn't refuse. 

Right about now, you might wonder why I didn’t see a doctor.  
 
Yes, I have insurance.  But I’m not a fan of the medical establishment.  Maybe it’s because I’ve known too many people who got sicker after they went to a physician; or received a faulty diagnosis, or ended up paying hundreds of dollars for needless tests.  And more often than not, all three.  
 
Nonetheless, at this point, I gave in.
 
The Hubster hadn’t arrived yet, but thankfully, a friend was able to take me to an urgent care facility.  There, the intake clerk couldn’t believe I hadn’t come in earlier.  We still had to wait nearly two hours,  but that was okay, especially since being in this sort of pain meant I really couldn’t do anything else.  (Also, my friend had snagged a chair next to an electrical outlet, allowing me to plug in my heating pad.)
 
Ultimately, it was worth it.
 
I saw a terrific nurse practitioner, who asked a lot of questions and answered all of mine. We even had a few laughs.  And then, he gave me exactly what I needed—a shot in the butt.  He also wrote out prescriptions for a muscle relaxer, as well as Naproxen (which, as it turns out, works way better for me than Ibuprofen) and a numbing gel to slather all over the injured area.  And, much to my surprise, he didn’t try to push blood work or X-rays on me, instead focusing on what he was pretty sure was a badly pulled muscle.
 
I’ve followed all of his instructions to the letter and now, a little more than a week after that visit, the pain is nearly gone, and I’m not limping.  I’m also sleeping.  I miss my classes, and hope to be back within a couple of weeks. 
 
One more thing. 
 
Just before leaving the clinic, I was handed a page of gentle exercises to do every day.  
 
Each one is a yoga pose.