It was a wet November night. Late. End of a shift.
I reached for the car door and felt a sharp pull in my lower back that didn't go away.
Not surprising, really. Thirty-one years as a nurse. On your feet for twelve hours a day, that kind of thing adds up. You just don't notice it until one night it doesn't go away.
That was eight years ago.
Within a week, the burning had started down my right leg.
Within a month, I was driving to work with a cushion wedged behind my lower back.
My GP was sympathetic. She referred me to physiotherapy.
I waited four months for that appointment.
Four months, for a ten-minute assessment and a sheet of exercises.
The exercises helped slightly.
Then plateaued.
She booked me in again for six weeks' time. That appointment was cancelled. Rebooked for six weeks after that.
By the time I attended, I'd already retired.
I'd planned to that year. But it was the commute that settled it.
Forty minutes each way, every morning, the burning starting before I'd even got out of the car park.
Retirement was supposed to be a relief.
Instead, I was planning my days around pain.
Could I manage the walk to the village shop?
Would I be able to sit through Sunday lunch at my daughter's without having to excuse myself to stand in the kitchen?
Could I get down on the floor with my granddaughter without knowing I'd be paying for it the rest of the day?
I tried everything I could think of.
Ibuprofen. Helped with inflammation but did nothing for the nerve burning.
Diclofenac gel. Left my skin raw and peeling at the application site.
A private chiropractor. Six weeks at £65 a session.
Two or three days of relief. Then it faded.
The menthol creams. Deep Heat, a couple of others from the chemist. Worked for twenty minutes. Reliably. Every single time.
And then stopped.
Twenty minutes. Then nothing.
I'd said that exact phrase to my daughter so many times she'd started finishing the sentence for me.
I went back to my GP.
She tried me on gabapentin. It took the edge off but left me foggy from morning to night. Half a life rather than a full one. I came off it after six weeks.
Then diclofenac tablets. Then a course of something stronger.
Then an epidural steroid injection. It helped for three weeks. Then reverted completely.
Eight years. Every option the system had to offer.
Which is how I ended up sitting across from my GP one afternoon, watching her choose her words very carefully.