“I’m sore,” I said, just after the alarm went off. In the dark, Mister couldn’t see me, lying on my back to keep my sinuses clear. But he probably felt me squirming beside him. I couldn’t help it. The space between my shoulder blades ached. “It’s from all those pull-ups and push-ups,” he said. I didn’t argue.
Getting dressed in the dark, the pain in my back begged for attention. I’d been sore before, but this felt different. Odd. And what the hell kind of muscles are right there anyway? I managed to get my workout clothes on and we got in a full hour of cardio.
Later, during breakfast, I again told Mister about the pain between my chicken wings. He said maybe I was sprouting wings, like an angel. I rolled my eyes and thought, “Yeah – a fallen angel.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I decided to keep my achey thoughts to myself.
The next day, I woke before the alarm rang. The pain was getting worse. And the space between my shoulder blades was beginning to itch. I’m no hypochondriac, but my rational self does backflips trying to understand things. So when I felt pain combined with itching, my mind was off and running. Had I contracted some sort of topical infection? Had I torn a muscle just beneath the skin’s surface? What the hell was happening to me?
Still keeping quiet about the ailment, I went about my to-do list. When my dry cleaning wasn’t ready as promised, I shrugged and said I’d check back in a day or two. When a woman failed to look both directions at a crosswalk and hit me with her car as I loped along, I stopped breathing for a few seconds, then realized I wasn’t hurt. I looked at her in her car. She was wide-eyed and visibly shaken. I smiled and mouthed, “I’m okay!” That lady burst right into tears. I’m not kidding. She got out of her car, came over and gave me a gi-normous hug. After making sure she was okay, I sent her on her way. Walking back to my ride, I saw a toddler run out from between two parked cars. I slipped an arm around him and scooped him up just as some joker came tearing through the parking lot. The kid’s mom was so grateful, she started sobbing. I put my arms around her as she gripped the toddler to her chest and we just stood in the grocery store lot for a few seconds, neither of us speaking. When she’d pulled herself together a bit, I brushed her hair from her tear-soaked cheek. She nodded and we parted ways. The itching on my back was getting worse.
At home, I started dinner and thought about the craziness of my day. As I’m about as far from sainthood as one can get, looking over my reactions left me looped. My dry cleaning wasn’t ready when promised? How did I not demand I get it for free? Isn’t that what I’d ordinarily do? And someone physically hitting me with their car while in a pedestrian crosswalk? I’ve jacked up people’s vehicles for less than that. How did I not at least bang my bag on the hood of that woman’s car? And the toddler? God knows – as a child-free person – I carry around more opinions about parenting than Dr. Spock. So what was going on when I merely comforted that mother and her small son? I had no answers. No clue. I got the roast into the oven and went to rub some lotion on my back. Maybe that would help the soreness and the itching.
Later, after dinner, Mister wanted to watch some alphabet cop show, but I didn’t have it in me. So I left him to it and went to bed early, to read. I tried to focus, but all I wanted to do was sit in the dark, quietly. Alone. By the time Mister came to bed, he thought I’d fallen asleep long ago. I didn’t say anything, and as he crept beneath the covers, the slight movement of the mattress jarred my back just enough to cause me to wince. It had been uncomfortable before, but now it was downright painful. Sinuses be damned – I decided to sleep on my stomach to give my back a break.
At some point during the night, I must’ve turned over. I remember the pain striking its blow, but I ignored it and kept sleeping. Mister woke before me, got up and left me to get some extra sleep. Light was just breaking when I finally opened my eyes. I lay there for a few minutes, grateful to have woken. When I roused myself and climbed out of bed, I turned and saw blood on the sheets. It was near my pillow, in two small, splotchy spots. “I must’ve scratched myself in my sleep,” I thought. I padded off down the hall toward the bathroom.
The pain in my back hadn’t lessened, but it wasn’t any worse either. In a way, I was getting used to it. Before I could check to see if I’d scratched myself on my back, Mister knocked on the door and reminded me that he had an early meeting and was leaving. I came out, kissed him goodbye and watched him go. I closed my eyes and pictured him traveling safely in morning traffic. I didn’t notice I was smiling as I turned toward the bathroom and undressed to bathe.
After a quick shower, I got out and began drying myself. When I pulled the towel to and fro across my back, I felt the terry cloth snag. I turned away from the mirror and looked over my shoulder, trying to see the reflection of my itchy, painful back. I was very still and very quiet. Somehow, I was also very calm. And I understood. I don’t know how, but I did.
I found a loose dress to wear and pulled it over my head. I was scheduled to meet some friends for breakfast, but decided to postpone. In that moment, it was the right thing to do. After calling and making my excuses, I went back to the bathroom mirror. As I slowly removed my dress, I thought about the people I love and what they mean to me. And how I would never be able to make them understand any of this. Would I lose them? Would I lose Mister?
I didn’t know. I only knew I needed to care for myself, and for the sore, bleeding spots just inside each of my shoulder blades, with the tiny white feathers, barely breaking through the skin.