It hurt

The pages were stacked high on the desk. He called it “Spatially organized” which of course just meant messy. To the right was a stack of returned homework, and some peer reviews from a paper he’d written for class. On top of that was a stack of paper from the ER. “Here’s the medicine we gave you when you came in, here’s what you should be taking over the next few weeks, and here are some stretches you can do that should help as well.” The names of the medicine meant little to him, pharmaceutical companies seem to just throw letters in a mortar and crush them together until they come up with something that sounds serious. He didn't care what they were called, just so long as they made the pain go away. It hurt. That’s an important thing to mention. It hurt. He’d injured his back while at work, and now it hurt to do lots of the little things he’d taken for granted.

It hurt to sit in a chair for too long.
It hurt to hold his kids on his lap.
It hurt to walk.
It hurt to stand for more than two minutes.
It hurt to sit at a desk and write.

The medicine they’d prescribed was addictive. His brother warned him about it. His brother had seen lives wrecked by addiction to pain meds and didn't want that for him. He had a hard time saying no to the medicine that made things not hurt. Avoiding pain was one of his goals.

He decided to try something simpler. Regular pain medication that reduces inflammation and an ice pack. If he could fix the problem without the addictive drugs, he knew he’d be better off. He could get control of his pain, his back, and do it without losing control of his life.