I seemed to have reached an age where my body and I talk a lot. They’re meandering, lackluster exchanges. Like, my back will be hurting after doing something. That’s the point where we begin the conversation. I don’t know where I was when I hurt it, so I’m skeptical. Am I really hurt? A general query is made to myself, and my body. “Is my back hurting?”
I turn, and flex…feeling…confirming, there is pain and stiffness. I then become a pain detective, interrogating myself about when I hurt my back, where it hurts, and how I hurt it. Most of the time, my client – me – answers, “I don’t recall.” I ask my back, “Does it hurt when I do this?” Then I bend and stretch.
I try recalling everything I did that day, and the day before. My back never made any protests during the day. I thought, if I’m hurting it, it would probably speak up. “Hey, you better stop that. You’re hurting me.”
When I was younger, I never had this problem of confusion. I knew when I hurt my body. I remember exactly when I did it. But it now all sneaks up on me, like a very delayed reaction. Hours pass, and then my body announces, “I’m hurt.”
I never know why I’m hurt. It becomes a mystery, subject to monitoring. I find myself limping and ask, why is my heel hurting? What happened to my back? Aw, my elbow hurts. What’d I do to it?
The conversation never ends, like a plot without a resolution.