This was the year I was going to be organized. I said to myself.
Somehow the summer vanished in a blur, and of course the last two weeks were jammed with so many activities that I feel like I now need a vacation from our vacation. Sorry teachers—my kids are being returned half-feral, with mosquito bite scars, and with more sass than stamina.
But I’ll take one win: I managed to get all the back-to-school shopping done in a single day. With three teenagers and a six year old. If you know, you know—that’s basically Olympic-level parenting.
When Survival Mode Kicks In
Behind the scenes, though, I hadn’t been feeling great. Two of my friends had been nagging me to go to the hospital, but like most moms, I brushed it off. After all, there were uniforms to buy, shoes to find, stationery to sort, and haircuts to squeeze in.
If you read my previous blog, you’ll know about the night I nearly choked on a bison steak and had to be Heimliched repeatedly (most memorable date). Ever since, I’d had this stubborn cough I couldn’t shake. I figured it was just lingering irritation. But over the next few days, it got worse and moved into my chest.
I was powering through—until one coughing fit hit so hard it put my back out.
At that point, I threw in the towel. I told the kids: “I don’t care how much it costs—just buy it so we can be done and go home.” Three-quarters of the way back, I had to ask my daughter to finish the drive. I limped into a hot bath, downed some Buckley’s cough syrup and a Tylenol, and went straight to bed.
The Morning After
The next morning, I still had to get my daughter to work for 7 a.m. (because moms don’t get sick days). My good friend texted me, and I finally admitted: “I need to go to the hospital.”
So we did a little swap: my daughter parked by her work, my friend parked beside me, and off we went.
To my surprise, emergency was quick that morning. Before I knew it, I was in a wheelchair—if any hospital planners are reading this – Please DO NOT USE TILES OR SMALL BRICKS IN PATHS OR HOSPITAL ENTRANCES – the pain of being jarred to even get inside the hospital and across to the emergency department was made much worse because of this torturous floor choice.
But honestly, I couldn’t have managed otherwise without a wheelchair. My left leg might as well have been made of concrete. The nerve pain shot down like someone had replaced my sciatic nerve with a live wire. If anyone wants to know what it felt like, hand me a cattle prod—that’s probably the closest comparison.
The Sadistic Requests
From triage I was wheeled straight to X-ray and then back for assessment.
I perched gingerly on the edge of the bed when the assesor asked: “Can you shuffle back?”
A simple enough request… if you’re not in acute back spasm. I did manage it—though only after apologizing for some colorful words that slipped out. I think I also asked him if he was a sadist…. oops
Then came the next test: lying on my side. My friend had to lift my feet while I slowly dropped my upper body down to the bed. Not graceful, but mission accomplished.
And then the kicker: “Can you roll onto your back?”
I blinked at the floor. “Can I just stay on my side?”
He smiled politely. “It would be better if you can roll onto your back.”
Seems simple enough, right? Ummm, no.
Let me ask you something: if you knew what you were about to do would shoot straight to the top of your “worst pain ever” list, could you still do it? If someone asked you to hold your hand in a flame for five seconds while it burned—would you?
That’s what rolling onto my back felt like. I counted down in my head: three, two, one. And somehow, I did it.
But I was right—it was brutal. For the record, I’d rather give birth to all four of my kids again with no painkillers (which I did) than go through that one roll ever again.
The Diagnosis & Relief (Sort Of)
The verdict: acute back pain with disc issues. The good news? No signs of it pressing on my spinal cord. The bad news? It’s rest, drugs, anti-spasmodics, anti-inflammatories, topical creams, and the trusty Advil-Tylenol combo.
And here’s the part I hate hearing: it will take time. You can’t rush it. It takes as long as it takes. Story of my life, sometimes, and I hate it. I want healing now. I want the suffering to stop now.
But maybe there’s something in the waiting, in the hurting. Without the darkness, the light wouldn’t seem so bright. Without the suffering, I wouldn’t notice how many beautiful things this world has—things most people pass by, take for granted, or never stop to recognize. Life, for better or worse, is always a balance.
I’d already been given a steroid injection in triage, and a nurse—bless her—brought more meds with the kind advice: “Take these, and wait until they kick in before trying to get up.” That bit of compassion was a lifeline.
For now, I can’t put on my own socks or pick something off the floor if I drop it. I can’t let my six-year-old give me one of his famous hug attacks and brace for his full-force impact. And it makes me appreciate, in a whole new way, the things I can do when I can do them.
The Chest X-Ray Surprise
At first, the emergency doctors thought my chest X-ray was clear. But when the radiologist reviewed it, they saw something that wasn’t quite right. The verdict: possible aspiration pneumonia (thank you again, bison steak).
My options:
- Leave it and see what happens and come back if it gets worse.
- Pick up antibiotics “just in case.”
It is a long weekend here in Canada so we grabbed the meds on the way home, and by that night—when things got worse—I was already grateful to have them.
The Irony of It All
So here I am: resting, medicated, and recovering slowly. Taken out not by white-water rapids or cliff jumps, but by a cough from aspirated pneumonia. Death by bison (steak), anyone?
The irony isn’t lost on me. I muscle through the big storms—the cliff jumps, the court battles, the life-changing crises. But sometimes it’s the small things—a cough, a sneeze, a moment—that bring me to my knees.
Fresh Starts All Around
The kids will be back in their routine—new teachers, new classes, new friendships, a whole new academic year stretched out in front of them.
And me? I’ve got a new routine too. Rest. Recovery. Learning to listen to my body, even when I’d rather push through. And then, step by step, back into the routine of life as a single mom raising four kids.
But this year, I’m choosing to start fresh as well. Not just with schedules and supplies, but with new hopes, new dreams, and a determination to embrace the wrong and the crazy. To laugh when things don’t go as planned. To live—not just survive.
Because back-to-school—and all the learning and growing that comes with it—isn’t just for them. It’s for me too.
And in a little while from now, when this pesky back pain finally recedes, I’ll be ready to try new things again—to live life, as Tim McGraw put it, like you are dying.
✨ Here’s to routines, resilience, and fresh starts—no matter what form they take.
