We had been out driving around all day long.
We’d driven an hour into the city, made some mundane stops for groceries and bathroom trips, then wandered around a big box pet store looking at cool lizards and fish and budgies. We’d come to the city to meet up with my brother, and go on a nice big hike with him up a little mountain which sat nestled in a protected wilderness area beside some burgeoning suburbs.
It was a challenging but pleasurable hike. A beautiful, sunny spring day with clear sky and not too much mud. A few piles of graying snow still lay impotently in shady areas, but for the most part, spring had most decidedly sprung.
My son and I were transfixed by a clean, still lake and had to make a stop there. It reminded us of our old home in Northern Ontario, even though the Atlantic ocean roiled just a few kilometres away. My son put his hand in the water, testing the temperature, as I raised my face up toward the sun (aka, “put my face in it.”)
The hike back down was just as peaceful, though I noted the hesitancy with which my kid descended a steep Acadian forest hillside. He slowed right to a halt, checking for tree roots to grab onto and heeding my brother’s and my suggestions. In short, he was very careful. He put my maternal mind at ease with his cautiously successful descent of the mini-mountain.
The drive home was similarly placid: a balmy, sun-soaked long-cut along the coastline back down to our home on the South Shore. I had uncharacteristically avoided the big, efficient highway in favour of taking the scenic route. Our day was all the better for it.
And yet, just as I turned onto the small highway that leads to our home on a quiet dirt road, a towering pickup truck almost smashed into our little black car.
It had carelessly careened out of a gas station lot without looking, and I - although I was only travelling at 55 km/hour - had to stop very suddenly to avoid the big black threat within centimetres. My son was fine. He didn’t hurl forward too hard, as he’d been seated properly and relaxed. Everything else in the car fell forward; drinks and random objects toppled onto dirty floor mats, including my son’s bag and my own suede bucket bag, which ended up upside down in some especially thick floormat dust.
I thought that was the worst of it. Someone made a huge error and almost hit us, but I saved us.
Then, I started to have terrible headaches, the vein on my right temple protruding and throbbing like it had never done before. I’m a chronic pain kinda lady, but even for me this was unusual. My neck became very stiff, and my vision a little blurrier than usual. I noticed that my shoulders felt weak - also a rarity, as I play drums/bass/guitar with no strain. Driving felt uncomfortable. A new, stabbing pain in the right side of the back of my ribcage appeared. All of these symptoms continued, worsening each day, for more than a week.
I knew something was off, but didn’t connect it to the small, low-speed accident. I even went so far as to spend 6 hours in an ER waiting room, before abandoning ship to go see the new Ghostbusters movie with my husband, my brother and my very excited child. Doing something meaningful with them felt more important to me than waiting another few hours to, perhaps, be told that nothing was wrong.
Then it finally hit me: aha!
And here I am, almost two weeks later, and I’m still in pain. I’ve only turned to ibuprofen twice, but I tell you, folks: this hurts like hell. Playing bass hurts. Even drumming - my comfort zone - hurts my neck and back. I can feel that I’m healing, however, and I am relieved.
All of this new pain is just another reminder that I often possess a giant blind spot when it comes to cause and effect. My mind is willing to entertain a myriad of divergent explanations, because I love to research, and learn.
Keeping the Occam’s razor principle in mind, in this case, at least, would have helped me address the pain sooner, and perhaps not waste entire days wondering why my usual yoga, massage and rest regimen wasn’t working. And perhaps, I would have enjoyed the movie (my 4th favourite in the franchise, for what it’s worth) just a wee bit more if I knew why my neck was so stiff I could barely turn it.
For now, I’ll keep healing slowly, as I finish up tracking every instrument on my solo album, and the odd Pixies cover. Singing my heart out is as strong a painkiller as I need at the moment… although, I should probably also start seeing a chiropractor.
Well ,, I hope you get to feeling better soon Jackie,,, 😔😎 Bob
I know you take good care healing yourself. Whiplash is the worst! Acupuncture and massage may help.