Remember that time that I packed up a house in which I had accumulated 30 years of stuff to move to an entirely unfamiliar community and ended up temporarily unable to get out of my chair?

For the past few months, I’ve been promising that as soon as we reached the next phase (whatever that phase would be), things would be easier. It would be easier when we had a real estate agent. I would be easier when we had green dots on everything that we were taking with us. It would be easier when the packing crew arrived to pack up the house. It would be easier when the movers came, and we would be sleeping in our own bed in our new house. It would be easier when everything was unpacked and in place in our new home.

Despite my good intentions, it never really became easier. But we’re almost there, I promise.

The foreboding problem started on Wednesday, the day that the crew came to unpack our house. As promised, we had spent the night in our own bed. Unfortunately, though all of our things were there with us, they were all in boxes, awaiting the arrival of the unpackers. Our toothbrushes were so close we could practically hear them bubbling with toothpaste, but we didn’t know in which of the 578 boxes they were located. I had managed to remember to pack our bags with our medications and our pajamas, but little else.

The crew came early and began unpacking our things and putting them away the best that they could. My sister Jen was there, and she provided an enormous amount of help, but at some point she could no longer advise the women as to where I wanted my cookie jar to reside. She was too busy nursing her poorly sister.

Nursing? What was wrong, you might ask. Sometime around midday, my shoulder began to ache. Within hours, the ache became excruciating pain that radiated from my left should blade down my arm and into my hand, leaving everything numb and tingly. The pain made childbirth and bowel obstructions seem like walks in the park in a gentle breeze.

Despite my constant rotation of heating pad and ice pack on my shoulder and arm, things continued to get worse. I was certain that I had a pinched nerve. I was confined to my chair eating ibuprofen like they were M&Ms. I even pulled out my carefully rationed pain pills that I have for when I get a bowel obstruction. Nothing helped. I called Doctors on Demand. She gave me a prescription for a muscle relaxer. They did nothing. My PPC doctor (with whom I spoke via TeleMed since, see above: I was unable to get out of my chair). She added a steroid med to the mix, and gave me permission to continue using pain meds. I looked lovingly at my bottle of whiskey, wishing I could drown my sorrows with alcohol. No matter how tempting; I had no desire to be the 21st Century Karen Quinlan.

Yesterday afternoon, I think I turned a corner. At least I was able to get out of my chair. More important, I was able to brush my teeth.

By the way, while all of this was happening, the generous and likable people from Wind Crest — both staff and neighbors — stopped by to say hello and welcome us to our new home. I’m sure their first impression of me was terrific. Perhaps they thought it was an early Halloween costume — namely, the Walking Dead.

Keep your fingers crossed that today I not only turn another corner, but walk around the entire block.