As the weeks slowly passed, my worst fear started to come to life. Each day I noticed something that was a little harder to do; hurt a little bit more.
Images flashed through my head as I’d try to fall asleep- I’d remember my days of being confined to the corner seat on the couch, the nights of not going out with friends because it hurt to stand, and the worst, the mornings where I couldn’t get my shoes on for a run.
I was terrified that life was about to fly into reverse. Everything I’d worked for, fought through, and overcame was about to disintegrate into a distant memory.
And then one day I realized it’d been a few days since things had gotten worse. I tried not to let myself get hopeful, but then a few more days passed.
Slowly those days turned into weeks, months, and now almost a year. The pain that came back has stuck around, but after those first couple weeks the progression stopped. And stayed stopped.
So here I am almost a year later; there’s some pain, but I’m eternally grateful things never got as bad as they were in the beginning. It still bothers me every day, but not in a way that’s interfering with my life this time. It’s just something that’s a part of me, like being left handed or allergic to peanuts.
And if you’re wondering why I’ve voluntarily put myself through this, it’s because babies don’t like Class D pain meds.