Have you ever had bruises in your armpits? Take it from me, it’s not pleasant. I’ve written a poem. I call it “Myotherapy Blues”. I meant to insert it elegantly at the end of an e-mail, but what started out as two lines soon became 13 stanzas, and I feared for the attention spans of my readers, especially Declan and Cyrus. So it is now (almost) an e-mail in its own right.
I’ve put off typing for a while, but, though the pain remains the same, the good doctor is pleased enough with the progress of my trigger points to recommend that I start typing and writing, slowly. I’ve had to change my reading habits, since it was pointed out to me that prolonged bending of the neck is very bad news indeed for the nerves trying to get to the arms and fingers. I hadn’t realised this despite my, ahem, extensive reading on the subject. So I read and write in 10-minute intervals, with a lot of stretching and lying on the floor in between. Rock’n’roll! (It’s occurred to me that reading with glasses is worse than reading with contacts, since you have to bend the neck more with glasses. Maybe the solution is to get enormous ‘80s-style ones?)
Please note that “interesting” is a euphemism for “painful”, ever since Jeshma inflicted such excruciating pain to my thumb that I had to tell her, between repressed screams, that I found the experience interesting. We both found that funny, and now giggle heartily at my squirms and grimaces whenever the treatment becomes especially interesting. We take whatever amusement we can find here at Iraqi prison camp.
If you’re wondering why Diya is “teaching me how to sit”, it’s because Diya’s the nice Alexander technique teacher. She’s been teaching me all kinds of cool things like sitting, standing, and walking – it’s all going on my CV!
Anyway, here’s the poem. If anyone would like to compose music for it, go ahead (and if anyone wants to start a band or a barbershop quartet, I have a fairly pleasant alto soprano – Jeshma even claims to find my howls of pain musical, but then that may just be her sadistic nature). I‘ve got a feeling that Myotherapy Blues could become a massive rock’n’roll hit! However, you’ll find that it works quite well to the tune of “Camp Granada” (“Brev från Kolonien” på svenska), though you may have to slur a few syllables with a British drawl in order to make the syllable count add up.
If you need a refresher, here it is:
Och på svenska:
Myotherapy Blues
I’m a cripple, don’t you doubt it
Full-time job? Forget about it!
A few months at Recoup Clinic
should hopefully restore health to this cynic
I’m racked with pain that won’t abate
My deltoids’re in a sorry state
My arms are full of trigger points
Oh dear God, it hurts when they mobilize my joints
My poor neck is in constant spasm
The pain is certainly no phantasm
My muscles burn like they’re on fire
And all my nerves are stretched like piano wire
My posture’s slumped and, not to mention
nerves are trapped by muscle tension
You’d think I was in my forties
See, my jaw is locked as if in rigor mortis
The clinic’s full of vicious sadists
pretending to be therapists
I feel like a tortured soldier
A fellow digs his elbow into my shoulder
Jeshma tortures my poor fingers
For days and days the pain lingers
While Manjula treats tendonitis
I swear, the pain is worse than appendicitis
Myotherapy’s a painful process
It sure ain’t a dance on roses
It is a hardship to endure
Prevention is certainly easier than the cure
I am here at Recoup Clinic
I would love a gin and tonic
Anything to ease the pain
The only drugs here are produced by my own brain
during yoga, called endorphins
They’re not quite as good as morphine
Diya’s teaching me how to sit
While Jeshma digs her fingers into my armpit
It tickles and I scream and howl
This treatment really is quite foul
Jeshma just laughs and makes it worse
Nothing I can do but swear and silently curse
Trigger points are interesting
I‘m black and blue as if from wrestling
But to Jeshma and Manjula
inflicting pain is nothing at all peculiar
Now there is a point to all this
The violence is not gratuitous
My thoracic outlet syndrome
produced this astonishingly beautiful poem
One day I’ll go home all cured
I’ll thank Jeshma and Manjula
for the pain that they inflicted
My condition was bad but I finally kicked it
Thank you, come again!
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