*cue flashback sequence*
I was closing the paint department on my own. The last few hours of the day had been so slow with nary a customer in sight. Deciding to make myself useful, I began down-stocking some stain. Most of this down-stocking was largely unnecessary as our staining season is over but we have no overstock of the paint that people actually want right now and I was bored. I began with a gusto, moving gallons of the stuff from the enclosed storage bay above the sparsely stocked shelves. You might think gallons of paint would be more challenging to move than quarts. You might, but in this case you'd be very, very wrong.
I learned that
(a) the perfect, compact quarts of stain were kept neatly organized in boxes of six
(b) I'm short, even when on a kick-ass ladder;
(c) standing tip-toe, I still sometimes have to work above my head and
(d) these boxes are bloody heavy!
And then my back said, "um, stop. kthxbye." By the end of my quest to cure boredom, I was sore and tired and had only managed to down-stock about 8 quarts.
Oh, I also learned
(e) sleep has the magical ability to make a tweaked back hurt like hell!!!
Saturday, shortly after beginning my shift I was talking to a couple of the women in or near my department about my back tenderness. They talked me into filing with first-aid which I did before returning to the floor. I went home at lunch to dope myself up on Tylenol and Advil so I could finish out my shift in an upright position. That night I loaded up on Robaxacet and slept like a rock.
Sunday was great. I felt no pain but I was aware of the centre of my back. It was distinctly there, you know? Everything was fine until I bent to pick up a receipt. I don't know if I moved too fast or what but by the end of my day I was getting waves of pain that were making it hard to breathe. To make matters worse, I'd taken my last two Robaxacet the night before.
Monday morning I had to use my both hands to get out of bed. I spent the morning gimping around like Gollum and waiting for the next round of pain pills to kick in. They still hadn't by the time I got to work. Hence the sending home.
I went to a clinic early this afternoon and was given a prescription for Flexeril which I can't afford to get filled, and instruction to stick with light duty at work for ten days. No ladders, no lifting. But standing all freaking day is o-tay, which is good because that is my job description.
"Oh, and what do you do for a living?"
Good news? Wolf's on meds which have stopped his seizures and passing out. They leave him dead-dog tired but on his feet which is good because he can now take care of me for a couple of days.