I had my Pandora on tuned to Cuban music. It was a beautiful day and I couldn’t wait to get out there and walk with the music in my ears. I didn’t have much time, so I thought I’d make it faster, rather than slower, and that would make up for the shortage of time.
The Cuban music was pounding loud in my ears. The waves down below were keeping time, the sun was high, the flowers smelled beautiful. I could imagine I was back in Cuba, listening to the street musicians, singing and playing as you walked along the streets of Cuba.
Instead of walking briskly, I decided to dance and walk, up and down the hills near my house, above the beach. I was having a wonderful time all by myself. If anybody had looked out their window, I’m sure they would have called the police to tell them about the crazy lady on the street dancing by herself. But I didn’t care. I was going up the hills, down the hills, dancing my Cuban dances that I had learned from my sisters when I was very young. This is the kind of music I grew up to. And when I went to Cuba this year, it made my heart so joyous to dance like that once more.
I came home after half an hour feeling exhilarating like I had not only done a good workout, but had my fill of dancing for the day. I thought I had done a brilliant thing by combining the two. I felt a little twinge as I walked in the door and so I stretched and stretched, and felt fine. A little later I said to my husband, “I did something to my side back today but I think I’m ok.”
By 8 o’clock that night I was groaning in pain and flat on my back. By 10 o’clock that night, I was fainting and sick to my stomach from the pain. I slept fitfully half on the floor, and half in bed. And in the morning after my husband talked to the doctor, we decided to go to the ER.
When we got to the ER, I had to lie on the floor there to be examined because the chairs were too uncomfortable for me. They gave me a shot and gave me a couple of prescriptions; one of steroids and one of Vicodin. Four days later, I’m still in pain, although I’ve got off of the Vicodin and on to Advil in hopes that will take care of the pain. I still cannot sit.
So I ask you, is this fair? Do I have to act 82 all the time? Can’t I be 40 once in a while without paying the price? I guess the answer is no, but it’s not going to keep me down. As soon as this gets better (and it will) I’m putting Cuban music back in ears, I just won’t dance it uphill, only flat.
I guess I have to remember that my spirit is as young as I want it to be, but my body doesn’t always know that. I have to listen to it. And that’s ok.
I can live with that!
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