Never Help Anyone - My Leg Is On Fire

My leg is on fire.

Okay, not literally. Figuratively.

It's my right leg, and it's buzzing right now. It feels like someone has taken my leg muscle, from my hip downwards, and twisted it-- then put it back in my leg. The sensation is almost indescribable.

It doesn't hurt necessarily, but its really unpleasant.

It's nerve damage.

And it sucks, and it's still not 100% healed even three years later.  But it used to be worse. So a tightness in my leg is pretty fine now.

But a word of advice.

When your brother says to you; "hey can you help me wall-mount the dryer?" And you say "yeah sure!" but you're a puny chubby late twenties woman with little or no muscle mass in your lower back, well...

... Say no.

In fact, unless you are a super muscly dude like my brother is, and can bench press at least 40lbs easily, maybe don't go helping him lift a 100 pound dryer to put above your head and on the wall. Especially if you're also really fucking short, 5'5" -- and your favourite past-time is being on the internet and being a complete nerd.

Let me give you a play by play of that day.

My brother: "Okay, I'll hold the side, you hold the bottom and try and find the hooks."

Me: "Sure."

Us: "Ooof"

My lower back muscles: *groggy* HUH?"

Me: "I can't find the wall hooks"  *frowny face*

Him: "Okay, put it down, we'll try again."

Me: "Hey that was fun, lets try another three times!" (Okay I never actually said that. It was more like, 'hey I can't find them still,' until my brother got fed up with me.)

My lower back muscles: "WHAT'S HAPPENING!?" *dies*

It didn't actually hurt then. I don't know, it never felt like a strain, or anything. I never even noticed any kind of pain that day. I never noticed a twinge or any kind of sensation in my back that would indicate any kind of injury as I helped him. In fact, I felt fine.

At first.

Like a rotting corpse waiting to be found, it was about five days later when my body was like, "HEY NOTHING IS WORKING BACK HERE, FYI!"

... my body yells, a lot.

And that's when it started to hurt. Unfortunately, as my previous entry attests, I'm also clumsy, so I'd also banged my tailbone on the same day as the dryer incident, this time from sitting too hard -- yeah I'm an extreme sitter.

I'm so screwed, haha.

So between the dryer and the tailbone--all at once, my body was like; "FUCK THIS SHIT," and kinda left me to my own devices.

It started with aching in my thighs. Dull aching. Suddenly, it snaked its way up to my hips, my lower back. And then, every time I bent over, pain. I couldn't bend. I couldn't sit. I sat like an old person.  I couldn't understand it.

Two weeks, and nothing. I couldn't bend at the waist without pain. Aching, aching, constantly.

And suddenly, I couldn't do my extreme sitting any more. In fact -- I'm sitting cross legged on my tiny netbook writing this right now -- two and a half years ago I wouldn't have been able to bend and sit cross legged at all. To sit cross-legged it would have meant slow, residual build up of stiffness and pain until I would have gotten up, hunched over and quasimodo-like. I wouldn't have been able to sit here even 5 minutes.

So I went to the doctor. It's a strain. Take some ibuprofen.

It didn't stop the pain, at all.

And then, another week goes by. My whole entire abdomen started to swell. Starting from my tailbone. And then the next day, my thighs. Next day my hips, my stomach.

"It could be diabetes," the guy says, looking really disinterested.

"My ankles and feet aren't swollen," I say.

"Oh." He says, and looks. They aren't. I luckily do not have 'cankles' -- I have pretty slim ankles for a fat girl. They are fine.

"Allergic reaction to ibuprofen," he says, still looking disinterested.

"But I always use ibuprofen, it's never happened before. And why would it be localized to the fucking place I had pain, unless it was related?" I look at him skeptically.

He shrugs and gives me a diuretic. Great.

Fucking doctors.

... and then the muscle spasms begin.

I still get this, especially in my right leg, the one with the continued buzzing. But not as bad. Man, it was bad when it first started happening. It was like twitching all along both legs. Like all along, and seconds apart. Constantly. Like a ripple twitching effect. It was as if all my muscles in my legs had given up and had no strength.

So long story short, it took seven months, an ultrasound, two x-rays, about four hundred dollars, and they still didn't know what was up. They theorized nerve damage but that test needs an Electromyogram to be diagnosed and EMGs are not something I could afford to do.

Besides, it was starting to heal. Soon I could kinda bend again, sit down without wincing, go to the toilet without wincing... go to sleep without a weird buzzing sensation.

It actually took a year for the symptoms to slowly go away, and it's been three years now, and heh, I can still feel the muscle spasms in my right leg as I write this.

Nerve damage takes for-fucking-ever to heal.

I'm still not 100%, still can't sit cross legged for long periods, can't bend for long periods. I still get tightness, I only managed to start exercising again back in January. My whole weight loss was basically on hold two years, because I wasn't sure if dancing and weights was making it worse or not.

It doesn't sound like much but at the time it was brutal.

So, the moral of the story is:

Never help your fucking brother with anything, ever, and always be careful when you practice extreme sitting.

What Do You Mean, I'm Clumsy!?

I remember where I was each time.

The first time, I was in Omotesando, Tokyo.

It was September 2011. The day was overcast, kind of crisp. I was walking down the avenue of the same name, passing some trendy brand store on my right when it happened.

I can't remember if the path was uneven, or the tile was sticking up off the pavement. All I remember is falling.

Reflexes took over, and bade me grab the railing to my left. I managed to cling to it as I landed. Unfortunately, the railing was broken. I didn't break it-- it was already broken. It just wasn't attached all the way along. So as I grabbed it, it gave, and instead of taking the brunt of my kinetic energy, the floor did.

Or rather, my left knee. I was in a weird position, like a kneeling prayer.

It fucking hurt.

It's a one off, right? Everyone falls over randomly on a really trendy street while in Japan, right?

... except it happened again.

This time, I was in Singapore, it was January of this year.

It's ironic, but this time we were really far up Orchard Road. Orchard Road is kind of the equivalent of Omotesando Avenue-- it's big, bustling, and full of trendy brand-name shops along either side. I'm not really into shopping all that much-- or brand names, but it's nice to window shop. I like visiting these places in any case. See how the rich people live and all that.

This time, I remember what happened.

The tile was uneven. As I walked over it, it rolled my left foot, slightly. It was pretty minor, but unfortunately, it had pushed my sneaker halfway off my foot.

Ah, shit.

As I regained my balance, I realized I was having problems standing because my left shoe was halfway off. As I stepped, I began to panic as I realized my left foot had no stable ground and I couldn't step onto it evenly. It was screwing up my equilibrium. Suddenly, I was falling.

And I fell; hard.

This time, it was no holds barred, full body plant, both arms in front of you to protect your face, fall.

I remember, again-- reflexes bade me grab something; anything-- but there was nothing there. I remember fleetingly deciding whether I should grab my brother, while thinking I didn't want to pull him down and hurt him. I remember his "what the fuck," expression-- wondering if he should grab me.


He didn't.


I flung out my arm-- and bam-- I fell like a sack of potatoes.

It was an epic faceplant.

Nobody laughed, actually. In hindsight, it was probably really funny. Maybe it really looked that bad though. Who knows.

I shifted my weight as I lay there on the pavement.

On my fucking knee, again.

Fucking fuck!

A young guy walking past obviously didn't think my brother's attention was really very caring at all. As he caught up to us, he looked at me concerned.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, worry etching his features.

"I'm fine," I said, getting up slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, really. Thanks." I said, being helped up. Mostly, I was just embarrassed.

He walked on. He glared at my brother somewhat as he continued on.

"Was my caring not enough for him?" My brother said.

"Well you are my brother, so there's always the, 'haha!' factor, deep down." I said.

"True, but he didn't know we were related."

"Maybe he thought you were just a really shitty boyfriend."

That kind of gives me hope. Guy was cute, too. Thanks random guy.

Anyways. I had slammed into my knee somehow, even though I had tried to land on my hands. It's always my fucking knees!

It bruised up something chronic-- I remember that when I went to sleep that night, I couldn't lean on it. It went purple and yellow. It was about a week before it healed. But it actually didn't hurt to walk on, so it didn't hinder our trip much at all.

So one day, when my brother said to me, "I was going to fix up your bike if you wanted to ride it again, but I'm worried you'll kill yourself on it..."

I was like; "What? I know how to ride a bike! I was practically glued to my bike growing up. What do you think I'll do? 'Look mom, no hands?'"

"Well you're clumsy."

"No I'm not!"

".... you full on fell over twice on holiday. You keep tumbling down the stairs at home."

Oh, yeah.

Am I clumsy? Shit. I've always felt I was an athletic person trapped in a chubby woman's body. I never thought I was clumsy. Sure I wasn't very graceful, but clumsy? No.

Sure I face planted twice within six months in public while just... walking. But that doesn't make me clumsy, right?

And then I thought about it.

My stairs are my nemesis. They are wooden, shiny, with a rounded edge. I wear socks a lot. I fucking love socks. So wooden stairs + socks = major slippage.

Once, I slipped while on the top step and tumbled down, stunt woman style. Or maybe like 'cat falls down stairs' video style.

When I was about thirteen or fourteen, I fell down the stairs that lead into the garage. These stairs are not rounded and wooden, they're tiled and pointy. It was like a stick being dragged along a railed fence. Thunk thunk thunk THUD.

... if you guessed that I landed on my knee, you'd be right. And it was right, too. My right knee.

Another time, I was flouncing out from the study, where there are only three steps. I missed one, lost my balance, and--

CRACK!

Somehow, my knees are the only thing that appear to break my fall. Oh and my tailbone occasionally.

I was in agony this time; it was my right knee, same as the time with the garage stairs. Both times were actually pretty brutal. They were not nice falls. My right knee is kind of messed up, now. It's the kind of injury that randomly pangs when it's cold. And it clicks all the time. If I'm pushing hard and biking or exercising or dancing, it can relapse or swell, or start hurting for no reason.

Another time, I was at the bottom step when I slipped, and reached out for the railing. But I was holding something and I didn't think to let go. So I cracked my tailbone on the bottom step, then slammed my wrist into the right-hand railing. My wrist came out worse, it actually took the brunt of that fall.

My nephew was there. He was four. "You shouldn't really wear socks on the stairs," he said. "Because it's slippery."

Yeah, thanks.

My tailbone has had it's fair share of injuries too. That deserves an entry all to itself, almost. I have sustained nerve damage all down my back because of something really stupid I did. It takes a really long time to heal nerve damage. Two years later, It's still not 100%

I still don't like calling myself clumsy, though. That implies I drop shit all the time and bump into things. I don't drop things. I'm not known for bumping into things.

And I'm pretty fucking resilient. I've never broken a bone; and I've done crazy shit. I remember biking on gravel when I was eight or nine even though I was told repeatedly not to-- and I went flying off my bike; a piece of gravel imbedded itself in my knee. Well, of course it did.

My knee appears to be a damage magnet.

I still have the scar.

I used to do crazy stuff on my bike all the time. This was before it was compulsory to wear a helmet, too. I was an unruly kid, always jumping off things.

When I do things on purpose, I don't get hurt, though.

.... it appears just 'walking' defeats me.

Maybe I am clumsy?

Nah.

I'm just... really accident prone.

... and, 'walkingly- challenged.'