The most popular post I ever wrote made fun of my aging back, not once but three times.  

My back is having its revenge.

Here are some of the words doctors used to describe the discs between my vertebrae:

• Herniated
• Ruptured
• Slipped
• Fragmented
• Extruded (That last one seems to be a synonym for “meteor.”)

They all feel about how they sound – like holy hell.  There’s a big broken fragment pressing on a nerve that shoots down my entire right leg, which just throbs 24/7. I have no reflex in the knee and it gives way if I try to walk, even on crutches. 

When you’re a tired mommy, mandatory bed rest OUGHT to be wonderful, but not when you can’t find one single position that’s comfortable for your body and your little one is confused and pissed off that you can’t lift or chase her. 

Also I’m on 9000 different medications and every once in a while I hallucinate a naked Indian a la Jim Morrison in The Doors movie (or Wayne in Wayne’s World). He wanders into the shows I’m trying to binge watch on Netflix and the plot gets all confused. 

I’m pretty freaking miserable, but I’m thankful too.

I’m thankful for my fiancé who continues to bring home the bacon while running our household, taking Viv to school every day and putting her to bed every night and dealing with my moods and frustration (only to be rewarded by stepping in dog poo on our doorstep this morning – we don’t even have a dog!).

Thanks for the metaphor.

I’m thankful to have found a full time but hopefully temporary nanny whom Viv knows and loves while I rest and see doctors, reviewing my options, surgical and non-surgical, to get me back up and around.

I’m grateful that my father is flying in early for his visit to take Viv trick-or-treating.  That pumpkin costume is not going to fit next year and somebody needs to bring home some Milky Ways.

I’m grateful that my mother and in-laws have also planned trips out here soon after to help keep this family together.  It’s times like this when I wish our village had a monorail and not so many flights.

I’m grateful that one of my closest friends from college is a bonafide neurosurgeon (absurd when I reflect on the kind of partying we did at 18) whom I trust completely to help me interpret a lot of conflicting medical advice.

I’m thankful this is not in any way permanent and I’m sure as hell not fighting for my life.   It’s inconvenient and sucky but it will get fixed, we just don’t know when.  I hope it’s in time to dance at my wedding.  I hope when the rabbi says “in sickness and in health” we can all have a good laugh.  I still hope I get well in time to try, try again for that ever elusive baby.  If he/she ever appears, I will name that baby “No way!”  And then I will change our last name to Jones.

Most of all I’m thankful that the universe has been listening.  Every night I say a short mother prayer that essentially goes, “Me, not her.”  If something has to happen, give it to me. I can take this, maybe even learn from it.   All Viv needs to know is that Mommy has a boo boo that needs time to heal, but gets a little better every day.  She’s also learning that when the doorbell rings, it’s probably UPS with a toy from Amazon.  I don’t remember ordering them — blame the naked Indian.

I needed someplace to park my thankfulness right away, so I chose Jill Smokler’s Scary Mommy Thanksgiving Project.  It’s a wonderful, totally tax deductible way to put  Thanksgiving dinners on the the tables of hungry families in need.  If you’re feeling thankful too, please check out this incredibly worthwhile cause by clicking on the icon below.

Thanks.