Bursitis (or: Intervention Begets Intervention)

“You probably have bursitis,” my physical therapist told me over the phone.

I called her after my hike. When I felt like my hips were going to fall off. Or grind into bone dust. Or start smelling like burnt cartilage. Or something else disastrous that fit the dull, pounding, ceaseless pain that had taken me over.

The day after our beautiful hike, I pulled out my good friend from the closet.

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It was good to see her again. :)

She kept me company when I had to stay home from church and Baby slept most of the time.

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And since I had some time on my hands and her back legs kept skidding on my hardwood floors, I finally pulled out my travel Leatherman and gave her an upgrade.

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Oh yeah, baby. I’m 30 years old and putting tennis balls on my walker.

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After that, she slid like a pro!

And of course, Brother had to take her for a test ride after he got home from church.

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Whoo-eee! Look at ’em go!!

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But this is my absolute favorite part of being injured.

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“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Mommy, but I’ll sit with you!!”

Oh, thank you, Baby!! That makes everything wonderful. :)

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A couple days later I was able to get in to my family doctor and he diagnosed me with “Greater trochanter bursitis”.

Basically, there are these shock-absorbing sacs in my hips that are inflamed. And the terribly ironic and frustrating thing about it is we think my pelvic belt and physical therapy exercises are the cause of it.

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So, now I wear ice packs on my hips as much as possible. And I shouldn’t walk further than my yard. And I’ve stopped wearing my pelvic belt and adjusted my exercises.

And I try not to cry too much when they hurt and I worry that I won’t be able to have any more kids.

Then I remember to pray. That I will heal. That Heavenly Father will bless my efforts. And that I will please, please, please be able to have more kids.

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And then I look at this picture and start crying again.