Somehow last week I hurt my back. How, I don’t know. I somehow strained my lower right side. Not the left, just the right. The pain was severe enough I went once again to my preferred massage therapist Lori at Tranquil Touch Day Spa.
Four times now when I have been in pretty decent sorts I have gone to her for a 30 minute treatment and she virtually heals me. Shortly after a treatment from her I am able to get back out in the fields and resume abusing my body.
So, this Saturday she treated me and my back felt better. The problem though was the pain migrated into my right hip and down my right leg. It hurts, and it is difficult for me to drive. But, yesterday my father and brother’s transplants needed their second fungicide/insecticide spray, so … I had to spray.
I’m wearing the outfit you see in the picture at the bottom. It is not exactly comfortable to begin with. As I drove the 140A out to the field I then realized the right brake was sticking. Every time I depressed it I had to stick my foot under it and push it back.
And each time I did that the pain was excruciating. To top it off it was hot, my tractor was missing (something was wrong with the motor) and I had limited range of movement.
When you operate this rig you are going at a decent speed and you have to depress the brake or you will go into the ditch. Each time I did it it felt like a knife was going down my leg. Then I felt it again as I got the brake unstuck.
My solution was to depress the clutch a bit early and come to a stop before the ditch without depressing the brake, or depressing it less frequently. This meant that a foot or two of onions were not getting sprayed. Small price to pay versus the pain.
I’m finishing the second field and am about to head back tot he tank truck to get filled up by my dad when I turn and look and see him doing one of his frantic hand signals.
He is always doing hand signals. I am supposed to be able to read his mind and understand them. I just looked at him and thought that maybe he was stretching or something. I pulled up to the tank truck, he attached the quick coupler and started to fill my tanks. He then walked over to the tractor and in a snide voice said:
“You aren’t spraying to the end. You are leaving a couple of feet. You need to spray to the end.”
He knew my side was killing me. But once again “Mr. Id” forgot. It was hot, I was in pain, the tractor wasn’t running right, and I let loose with an expletive filled tirade that dutifully informed him about my leg, hip and back pain and inability to easily apply my brakes. he laughed and said:
“Sorry … I forgot that.”
I immediately calmed down, he finished filling me up, and I eventually finished spraying for the day.