Injury

I’ve hurt myself.  It’s completely my fault.  This morning I woke up with some soreness in the upper right quadrant of my body – I really couldn’t tell if it was my neck, shoulder, or chest. I’ve tried to just ignore it, hoping it would go away, but mostly I’m in denial. Since my blog is supposed to happen in real time, all day I have been thinking “I should record this.”  But, the whole being in denial thing meant I pushed it aside until now.

It’s clear now that the soreness is coming from my right breast – probably the muscle under there.  I’ve been working away at my desk, which means my 11 pound cat is walking back and forth across the keyboard.  I usually lift him under his tummy with my right hand, balance him in that hand using the strength of my right arm, and then put him on the floor – about a hundred times an hour.  As I’ve been doing this, I can tell the pain is not in my neck or shoulder, but in my chest.

Like I said, it’s completely my fault.  Once the doctor said I could begin lifting my more-than-20-pound son, I took that to mean I could begin lifting whatever I wanted.  So it’s pretty frequent that I’m lifting not only my son, but a few grocery bags and a diaper bag, along with my books and work things, his and my jackets, our lunch boxes, and whatever else happens to need to get into the house, all at the same time.  I’m also doing a lot more braless activity.  Since I’m not nearly as saggy as I was before, I do a lot more movement around the house even if I’m not wearing a bra (say, dancing with my son, or chasing him in circles around the couch).  This is probably pulling on those muscles more than I realize.  And, because I have been getting up at 5am to go to work instead of to the gym, I haven’t swam in weeks.  Thus – pulling a muscle seems somewhat inevitable.

I’m not calling the doctor just yet.  I figure I will give it a couple of days, see if it starts to feel better on its own.  If it starts to feel worse, then I will call him.  For now, I’ll just allow the self-pity to settle in, and I’ll enjoy the next few hours before my husband gets home from work, reads this, and then yells at me for overdoing it.

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