An Ode to my Uncooperative Shoulder!

There was a time in my life when I could play badminton. I was not a champion type player, but I managed to hit, run, stretch myself a little, rise up on my toes, smash with great enthusiasm and do it all over again.

The little ache that followed was sweet pain, happy pain. The kind that made one feel like a normal, kind-of-athletic adult.

And then came the shoulder pain.

And forget badminton, I could not even put my hair up without a few ahs, ohs, and damns!

The shoulder pain began on a vacation. It had rained and rained and rained all day.  I was so bored that even doom scrolling felt like too much work. So, I decided to take a walk inside the hotel and chanced upon their spa.

I entered. It looked good and smelled good. That was enough invitation for me to grab the hardcover book-like menu of massages. There were so many options for massages. And the rates to my utter and pleasant surprise were not prohibitive. Not at all like the rates these tourist hotels are usually accused of!

After a detailed perusal of the menu, coupled with deep deliberation, I settled on a deep-tissue massage.

The masseuse did a fairly good job for the price charged. Or at least that is what I believed, when with great enthusiasm, she pulled my hands and legs in directions I never knew they could go. I yawned out loud in what was a balanced mix of pleasure and calm.

I did feel a little ting on my right shoulder, but it was drowned in the overall “I have attained nirvana” feeling.

I went to sleep.

The throbbing in my right shoulder woke me up. I tried turning sides, but the pain refused to go away. I was angry at the pain. But more at the better half who was snoring peacefully beside me.

Of course I shook him awake. Not just because I could not bear him sleeping while I groaned in pain, but also because he is in charge of the medicine department during travel.

He got up, disoriented and deeply offended at being woken up like this. But he acted responsibly; he did not scowl. He put on his specs, pulled out a painkiller from the medicine pouch, handed it to me and promptly went back to snoring.

From then on, the rest of my vacation turned into a play between pain and painkillers.

Back home, I visited a doctor who pressed my shoulder, took an Xray and declared me “perfectly fine” which I have always believed is medical code for “we have no clue to the cause of your ailment,” while prescribing me ten painkillers and ten days of physiotherapy.

While the painkillers stopped at ten, the physiotherapy sessions did not. They stretched on to what seemed like a life-long commitment.

Lift hand, drop shoulder, pull rubber band, push weight, press ball with shoulder, press shoulder on ball! My life started revolving around my shoulder. Am I even a person? Or the physiotherapist’s pet project?

 My gym sessions were no longer about leg day, core day or back day. Everyday became a “So, does your shoulder hurt with this?” day.

My shoulder got more attention than me. Friends, family, colleagues, strangers. Everyone knew. Everyone had sympathy. Everyone had advice.

Just last week, when a colleague noticed me yelp pain when I had absent-mindedly stretched my hand a little too far to pull a piece of paper towards me, he said, with the confidence of a person having seen and solved such problems before.

“Shoulder pain, ha? Why don’t you get a deep-tissue massage done? It will fix it!

I smiled. And nodded. Without moving my shoulder.

Some explanations I believe are best not given.

Some mistakes I believe are best not repeated!