Twinge sounds like such a harmless word when it’s applied to conscience, a little tweak, a tiny tickle. Perhaps so inconsequential that it can be overlooked or overridden.
Is it just me or somehow does a twinge seems more significant when it has to do with the body? My husband Daniel learned the hard way (meaning enduring many physiotherapist visits) that he needed to give due respect to any back twinges. A stab of pain works as an early warning system for what might turn out to be a storm of discomfort or even incapacitation. As yoga teachers we say, when real pain arises, back off.
I was dismayed this afternoon when I noticed my right hip giving me pangs of pain. You have to get that I have two newish titanium/ceramic hips which have given me so little trouble that I can’t imagine calling them “artificial”.
Suddenly today, twinges! I thought over anything I’d done differently and I guess it would have to be moving heavy firewood. We country dwellers, woodchoppers and stackers and carriers of hardwood, are a vulnerable demographic when we hit middle age (or older).
My orthopedic surgeon had told me my new hips could handle any weight I could lift. Perhaps he meant that figuratively?
Interestingly, when the first twinge happened, I started catastrophising: I’d dislocated my hip, I’d torn muscles, I was going to have to have a revision of the surgery. My mind was down that track as quick as a wallaby hopping across our neighbor’s pastures.
A realty check reveals the twinges have now diminished and while I sit here in front of the fire, there’s no soreness at all. I’ve reeled myself back from any negative fantasies and am just enjoying the fruits of my log hauling in this moment. However, I might be just a touch, a tingle, a tweak less exuberant in my labors tomorrow.

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