ColumbiaMagazine.com
Printed from:

Welcome to Columbia Magazine  
 





























 
Carol Perkins: Why didn't you wake me?

Previous Column: Passenger seat peril

By Carol Perkins

Both feet flew over the side of the bed and immediately, I massaged my upper right leg. From nowhere came a burning, torturous stinging above my knee. A muscle cramp. As if every nerve in my leg was compressed and constricted, the excruciating pain rendered me helpless.

I sat on the side of the bed, rubbing my leg as hard and fast as I could, hoping for relief. "Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh," I said with each movement. I had heard that walking or putting weight on the area would often diminish my suffering, so I stood up. Instantly, the stinging sensation traveled down my leg to my foot. How could I walk? The pain was crippling.


I grabbed the side of the mattress and held on to the sheets until I reached the dresser. With each movement, the cramping accelerated. By then, my words have turned to prayer. "Please let this pain end. Please help me." The neighbors could have heard me.

With each step, a bolt of lightning shot up my leg, and a hot stabbing sensation followed. When I reached the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, holding on to the countertop, the pain subsided as quickly as it came. The relief was like the feeling one has when an anesthesiologist places a mask over your face, and you float away. Fearing to move, I stood for a minute and the grimace and sweat on my face told the story. I decided to get back into bed while the pain was gone.

When I took my first step and then the next, the cramp grabbed my leg again and I almost went down. "Oh my, Oh my," I'm lamenting none too quietly. I lean over, put both hands on my knees, and massage again until I thought I might be able to reach the bed, thinking that if I extend the leg, the contractions might stop.

The minute I stretched out, the pain left. I froze. Afraid to move. I took deep breaths. When I thought the attack had ended, another cramp (or the same one) sent me off the bed again. This time I am to the point of tears, rubbing my legs and moaning. I can't move; I can't walk. I am tired and powerless to fight. I rock back and forth, massaging with each movement. Within a few minutes, relief came again. I carefully moved my legs onto the bed, stayed as still as possible, and I don't remember going to sleep.

The next morning, I told Guy about my night. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked. I would have thought with all the moaning and groaning he would have heard me, but he obviously hadn't. My only comeback was, "It's hard to wake a dead man sleeping."


Follow Susan and Carol-Unscripted on 99.1 the Hoss in Edmonton on Tuesdays from 10amCT to 11amCT and replay on Sundays from 4pmCT to 5pmCT. Listen to Carol's podcast at spreaker.com/user/carolandcompany for entertaining stories and a replay of Susan and Carol-Unscripted.


This story was posted on 2020-01-16 10:10:24
Printable: this page is now automatically formatted for printing.
Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know.



 





























 
 
Quick Links to Popular Features


 

Contact us: Columbia Magazine and columbiamagazine.com are published by D'Zine, Ltd., PO Box 906, Columbia, KY 42728.
Phone: 270.403.0017


Please use our contact page, or send questions about technical issues with this site to webmaster@columbiamagazine.com. All logos and trademarks used on this site are property of their respective owners. All comments remain the property and responsibility of their posters, all articles and photos remain the property of their creators, and all the rest is copyright 1995-Present by Columbia! Magazine and D'Zine, Ltd. Privacy policy: use of this site requires no sharing of information. Voluntarily shared information may be published and made available to the public on this site and/or stored electronically. Anonymous submissions will be subject to additional verification. Cookies are not required to use our site. However, if you have cookies enabled in your web browser, some of our advertisers may use cookies for interest-based advertising across multiple domains. For more information about third-party advertising, visit the NAI web privacy site.