Yesterday I woke up with a stabbing pain in my upper outer right arm area. It hurt like I had actually been stabbed. With a red-hot, razor-sharp, salt-encrusted jabby thing. To the bone. That would be the humerus, for those of you who did not pursue a bachelor of science degree in the sciences. The pain was in that deltoid muscle that abducts the humerus.
I could hardly walk, it hurt so bad. Yes. I know that should be "badly," but it hurt so much yesterday that it took away my adverbiality today. And no, before you ask, I do not walk on my arms. The pull of gravity set off the sharp stabby pain. I wanted to strap my lower arm across my torso like a dislocated shoulder person in a canvas harness.
The cause of my injury remains a mystery. Did Hick lay his fifty-pound bowling-ball head on my arm while I was in REM? Did he flip head-to-toe and stab me with a sharpened fragment of his great-toe nail? Was somebody (I'm thinking about YOU, Madam) thrusting hatpins into a voodoo doll of my likeness? The pain took my breath away. I was virtually incapacitated. So I called my mom. Using my left hand, of course.
"Oh, honey! Do you want me to drive out there? I don't know if there's anything I can do. But I'll try."
"No. I can't think, the pain is so bad. It takes my breath away. OW! I can't even move a little bit. I have to get where it doesn't hurt, and freeze. It hurts so bad I want to cry. And I have to do the Walmart shopping this morning."
"Oh, cry! Cry. That might make it feel better. It can't hurt any worse. Why don't you rub some ActivOn on it? Can I meet you at Walmart and put things in your cart for you? And help you unload it at home?"
"Nooooo. I have The Pony. But I think I will try that ActivOn, if I can grip it to get the lid off."
Aha! That's my mom's new cure-all. ActivOn. One of her old-lady friends recommended it. I took her to Walmart and found a box of it. Actually, it comes in a little plastic round dispenser like a glue stick. Looks like glue, too. The clear kind. I used some on my lower arm one day, and it worked. So I tried it on my newest ailment, even though the pain of it pressing against my flesh was almost unbearable.
By the time I got home from shopping, the pain was almost gone! It was a miracle! I assure you, I do not have blood like pure Rocky Mountain spring water. That's what Robby Benson's roommate said about him after giving him a pill to make him play better, in the best basketball movie ever, One on One, written by Robby Benson himself and his very own dad, back when Robby was at the height of his cuteness. Here's a bad clip to give you a taste.
Nor do I have blood that is pharmaceutical soup, like what I imagine runs through Keith Richards's veins.
I have Goldilocks blood that is just right for absorbing that ActivOn and ridding me of horrendous, debilitating pain.
If only all of my ailments were so receptive to treatment. One thing's for sure. A little dose of late '70s Robby Benson can't hurt.