Lifting Commode Lids (And Other Herculean Tasks...)
Commode lids take on a whole different dimension when my lower back goes out.
I’m plagued with this problem every couple of years. It always goes out from doing something really macho like driving, lifting my foot, or in this week’s case, laying our two-month-old in his bed.
When “happening” party conversations turn to the subject of what injuries hurt the most, popular answers include the big toe, the lower back, and internal gouges caused by surgeons’ misplaced scalpels. I have multiple experiences with two of these, and have found the lower back affects the most aspects of daily life. Mundane tasks become chores Hercules would have never attempted.
For starters, what were they thinking when they designed the commode lid? Where is the handle on the side that sticks straight up chest high so it can be raised or lowered without having to bend over? In our age of automatically flushing johns, it’s time for back pain patients to join me in demanding commodes that scan DNA, determine gender, and operate the lid.
This way, we wouldn’t have to assume the three-point stance against the wall to reach the lid (which is, according to one of Murphy’s Laws, always in the wrong position even in single gender public restrooms). This scanning may cause side effects such as leprosy, boils, or gender change, but these are child’s play compared to how it feels when a jackhammer is pounding away on your spinal cord.
If you are back pain free, let me draw you a word picture of what it is like to tie shoes. Have you ever taken a pair of binoculars and looked through them? No - I mean the wrong way! Remember how far away things look? That’s how your shoes appear because you glance down and notice somebody moved the floor waaaaaaaaay down there. Velcro is worth gold and slip-ons are heavenly, but if laces are required, you might rupture blood vessels in your forehead and pass out.
This assumes, of course, that you can even get out of bed to try to dress. Luckily, when we married my wife fancied a bed set that has a sturdy headboard. Little did I know at the time it would double as a chin up bar for the days when my lower back would take a hiatus to Singapore. I used it repeatedly in efforts to roll to a comfortable position but since no such thing exists in my situation it was like trying to find a soothing posture while laying in a sleeping bag made of cactus.
A little bit of sleep finally came when I used my ingenuity to drag both couch cushions to our master bedroom. Stacking them on our bed, I (using the headboard, of course) managed to lie down on my back and prop my feet up on the cushions. This brought relief as long as I did not have a scary dream, jerk my legs, and mangle my toes in the ceiling fan.
None of my chores get done if they involve my hands going below my waist. I’ve watched objects decompose in our trash can - environmentalists really don’t have to worry so much about plastic diapers - because I’m not about to bend to empty it. If the soap bar falls while I’m in the shower, it just stays down there along with all of its comrades who are slowly eroding on the tub drain.
Actually, one chore does get done. The floors are always clean because socks slide over every inch of tile. Since I can’t lift my feet when I walk, I think this is the proverbial silver lining in the cloud.
My wife does everything she can to help me when she notices I’m walking like a pregnant woman. She does this for two reasons. First, she loves me and has a great heart. Second, if I don’t take it easy and get well soon where I can lift, she’ll have to change all the baby’s diapers (a task bad enough while he’s nursing but cereal is just around the corner).
This round of back pain brought the added sensation of the pinched sciatic nerve. “Sciatic” (pronounced “sigh-attic“) comes from two words - “sigh,” which is what backpainers do while thinking of the old days when we did not have this excruciating pain, and “attic,” which is what we see when this nerve gets pinched because we scream so loud all of the ceiling falls.
No matter their age, backpainers start to love Depends as an option because other problems arise with the commode, but I’m too polite to go into details.
I’m plagued with this problem every couple of years. It always goes out from doing something really macho like driving, lifting my foot, or in this week’s case, laying our two-month-old in his bed.
When “happening” party conversations turn to the subject of what injuries hurt the most, popular answers include the big toe, the lower back, and internal gouges caused by surgeons’ misplaced scalpels. I have multiple experiences with two of these, and have found the lower back affects the most aspects of daily life. Mundane tasks become chores Hercules would have never attempted.
For starters, what were they thinking when they designed the commode lid? Where is the handle on the side that sticks straight up chest high so it can be raised or lowered without having to bend over? In our age of automatically flushing johns, it’s time for back pain patients to join me in demanding commodes that scan DNA, determine gender, and operate the lid.
This way, we wouldn’t have to assume the three-point stance against the wall to reach the lid (which is, according to one of Murphy’s Laws, always in the wrong position even in single gender public restrooms). This scanning may cause side effects such as leprosy, boils, or gender change, but these are child’s play compared to how it feels when a jackhammer is pounding away on your spinal cord.
If you are back pain free, let me draw you a word picture of what it is like to tie shoes. Have you ever taken a pair of binoculars and looked through them? No - I mean the wrong way! Remember how far away things look? That’s how your shoes appear because you glance down and notice somebody moved the floor waaaaaaaaay down there. Velcro is worth gold and slip-ons are heavenly, but if laces are required, you might rupture blood vessels in your forehead and pass out.
This assumes, of course, that you can even get out of bed to try to dress. Luckily, when we married my wife fancied a bed set that has a sturdy headboard. Little did I know at the time it would double as a chin up bar for the days when my lower back would take a hiatus to Singapore. I used it repeatedly in efforts to roll to a comfortable position but since no such thing exists in my situation it was like trying to find a soothing posture while laying in a sleeping bag made of cactus.
A little bit of sleep finally came when I used my ingenuity to drag both couch cushions to our master bedroom. Stacking them on our bed, I (using the headboard, of course) managed to lie down on my back and prop my feet up on the cushions. This brought relief as long as I did not have a scary dream, jerk my legs, and mangle my toes in the ceiling fan.
None of my chores get done if they involve my hands going below my waist. I’ve watched objects decompose in our trash can - environmentalists really don’t have to worry so much about plastic diapers - because I’m not about to bend to empty it. If the soap bar falls while I’m in the shower, it just stays down there along with all of its comrades who are slowly eroding on the tub drain.
Actually, one chore does get done. The floors are always clean because socks slide over every inch of tile. Since I can’t lift my feet when I walk, I think this is the proverbial silver lining in the cloud.
My wife does everything she can to help me when she notices I’m walking like a pregnant woman. She does this for two reasons. First, she loves me and has a great heart. Second, if I don’t take it easy and get well soon where I can lift, she’ll have to change all the baby’s diapers (a task bad enough while he’s nursing but cereal is just around the corner).
This round of back pain brought the added sensation of the pinched sciatic nerve. “Sciatic” (pronounced “sigh-attic“) comes from two words - “sigh,” which is what backpainers do while thinking of the old days when we did not have this excruciating pain, and “attic,” which is what we see when this nerve gets pinched because we scream so loud all of the ceiling falls.
No matter their age, backpainers start to love Depends as an option because other problems arise with the commode, but I’m too polite to go into details.