So last night, or technically this morning, at 1:30 AM, my right calf got a really bad charlie horse. I jumped up to walk on it and stretch it out- which has always worked for me. Well, it did not. So I tried hobbling over to the computer and fell and cried because now it was going on five minutes of sheer pain. And I don't really care if I am a baby. I mean, I do. I would love to be tougher, but apparently, when you age as rapidly as I do, other normal functions like pain receptors in the body become hyper-sensitive. So yeah, I cried. Cute side note: Marley was laying next to me on the floor whimpering or whining in unison with me. I think she thought we were howling for extra dinner or something.
I hobbled over to the computer on my knees and typed in something like: "how get ridd of keg cramps?" And Google did not let me down. Some of the results did. Do you know that one in four people over the age of fifty experience leg cramps often, averaging three nights a week? And once you get to over the age of eighty, it's about fifty percent of the people? How am I going to jump out of bed when my leg is seizing in pain at 80 years of age? Through my superb math skills, I guesstimate that to be the equivalent of an average person's 145. If I jump on my leg, the bones could just turn to powder. Does powder cramp?
After twelve minutes, the cramp subsided. TWELVE MINUTES. In cramp terms, that's like 3 weeks, easy. I was so emotionally drained from trying to think how I could get down my stairs and drive with my right cramping leg in the passenger seat while my clutzy left leg jerked it's way to the emergency room. I slept like a drugged baby.
And speaking of drugs, and clutsy.... I wake up this morning with not only a limp, but a super sexy waddle. Turns out that the universe thought that I could get to work still fairly easily with just a painful-to-the-touch limping calf leg. So why not give me my pre-menstrual lower back cramps? That should slow me down! So I gingerly make my way into the kitchen, trying to not think of myself as a zombie extra from The Walking Dead, and I ever so gracefully knock my new bottle of Excedrin Menstrual Complete behind my stove. And no, that is not an endorsement, Yes, the pills work really well, but why would they make the bottle so standardized and disgustingly easy to knock behind my oven? I can't move my oven- I can barely move myself! So I made the executive decision of not taking anything at all until I could get to the store because it wouldn't work as well. I waddled and limped my way across midtown, hobbled down the escalator and bought Potassium pills, Excedrin menstrual pills and was going to joke with the cashier about where the guns were hiding, but I think there was a solid 25% chance that he would have just lifted his shirt. And then I would have needed the new underwear aisle as well.