A Scream in the Night

I woke up in the middle of the night, yanked out of sleep by a ferocious pain in my leg, the one I injured earlier this year.

It felt like I'd stepped into a bear trap, that the steel teeth were digging deeper into the flesh surrounding my calf.

I sprang out of bed and nearly fell when my leg would hold me up. Instinctively, I tried to walk it out, tried to stretch it out, this charley horse of all charley horses.

Then eventually I realized someone was screaming in pain. It was me. Of course, even while I was doing it, I realize how pointless it was. Screaming did not make the pain go away, but it seemed like there was a disconnect from my brain, that the searing pain went through nerves correctly directly with screaming without bothering the brain.

I'm not used to pain anymore and I think I'm turning into something of a sissy about it.

But as the muscle in my leg spasmed and spasmed again, I thought, this would be part of it, you know. This would be part of it, too, getting where my body needs to go. And no screaming allowed.

Could I take this not just once every ten years but possibly several times every day?

It comes with the territory. We do what we must. And stop screaming. And go back to bed.