When I tell y’all about my aches and pains—whether mental or physical, I am not in search of a pity party. I am not saying, “woe is me.” I just tell you what’s up with me and the residents of the Tie Room. And what’s up is that yesterday I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a golf cart. My head ached, and I never get headaches. My whole body ached. It felt like a belt was tightening around my ribs. Even my Spock ear hurt. The bottoms of my feet kept cramping. I am the whitest person on the planet, but yesterday I was whiter than that. I made a bed on the couch, which I haven’t done since right after I was recovering from my Hanky Panky decapitation surgery. That’s been two years now.
I had my flu shot a few weeks ago, so I figured it wasn’t the flu. I could tell Suzanne was worried about me because she called me from work, via FaceTime, to ask me all kinds of questions about which of the COVID-19 symptoms I might be feeling. You have to understand that when Suzanne is at work, Suzanne is at work. She doesn’t know home exists. That is not a criticism, it is just a slight exaggeration. I am simply making the point that Suzanne was worried about me. She doesn’t text, call, or Face Time me from work unless there is a bigly problem. Yesterday morning, I guess she considered my health a bigly problem. She even ordered me not to die.
Anyhoo… I answered Suzanne’s questions about any possible COVID-19 symptoms I might be having. Suzanne said the questionnaire she was reading from said, based on my answers, I should go to urgent care. I don’t know everything, but I sort of know my body, and I highly doubt COVID-19 is the culprit. Nevertheless, I promised Suzanne if I didn’t feel better the next morning (today), I would hop, skip, and jump to the urgent care clinic to be tested.
Well, I woke up this morning feeling just enough better that I doubt I’ll be going for a COVID-19 test in the immediate future. My head still hurts, but not as much. My feet are still cramping up weirdly, but not as much. My chest is feeling bear-hugged too tightly, but not as tightly as it felt yesterday. I am still whiter than my usual whitest-person-on-the-planet pallor, but I’m not as white as I was yesterday.
I’m starting to think there is such a thing as “aging pains.” I remember having growing pains in my legs when I was about 10, and Mom rubbed them down with alcohol so I could fall asleep at night. Those kinds of pains mysteriously came and went for a couple of years. Just as mysteriously, I think I’m starting to have the opposite kind of pains: those growing old pains. Some days an arbitrary pain, ache, or twitch shows up and sticks around for a few hours or a few days, then it’s just as mysteriously gone. I will always be fish-belly white, but my aging pains will surely come and go. No worries here.