I don't know how well I'm recovering from my back problems, or adjusting to them, or whatever I'm supposed to be doing.
The defect was there all along. I just set it off, woke it up or irritated it with my efforts at yard work on the last day of May. It's not going to heal; the bone was always wrong and it's not one a surgeon can fix. Here it is August, and if I forget and bend over to pick up debris two or three times within a few minutes, I feel it. The physical therapy exercises make my back hurt, too.
Am I making progress? I don't know. The howl-at-the-Moon pain of the first few weeks hasn't come back, and I am grateful for that, but I can tell it's waiting in the wings, and it makes me timid. Or maybe just careful. It's frustrating.
My great sympathies. And it's too bad I can't offer a single bit of good advice. Except, that's not the worst thing in the world.
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