For today’s National Health Blog Posting Month I’ve chosen my own subject rather than writing from the prompt:

You know, I think what’s worst about this constant bursitis pain in my hips (yes, it’s still hangin’ right in there) is that it’s boring. Second worst is my frustration with it. Because aside fro the bursitis, I’m feeling pretty darned good these days.

My rheuma-dragon, the evil beastie, has been dozy lately. Aside from a few nibbles at my knuckles, he’s leaving me alone. That’s wonderful! I mean it down to my toes when I say I’m grateful. But…

Heheh. There’s always a “but,” isn’t there?

The bursitis pain is always right here, lurking at the edge of my consciousness

Maybe a púca...

and making frequent forays into the here and now. I’ve tried everything I can think of to keep the bugger locked in the little brown trunk I’ve tucked into the back of a deep, dark closet in the attic of my mind, but he simply seeps out through the cracks. Bursitis wakes me rudely at least twice during the night (even with my sleepy pills finally working so well!), rousing me simply to remind me of his presence. Because of bursitis, the first coherent thought I have in the morning is “Ow! My hips! Ugh!” (“Ugh” is a stand-in word for any four-letter obscenity of your choice. Feel free to test several.) Eventually I work up enough courage to move my rheuma-stiffened joints and clamber out of bed. I stump to the loo like Frankenstein’s little sister, each step I take underlining the deep purple ache in both hips.

And what creature represents bursitis in my overactive imagination? I don’t know. The “rheuma-dragon” fits perfectly the diabolical randomness and varying intensity of the pain and disability caused by my rheumatoid arthritis. I might not be able to vanquish the dragon, but I can fight him to a draw.  And the occasional sharp stab and throb in the tiny joints at the ends of my fingers has manifested in my mind as the r-dragon’s cousin. I call it the osteo-wyrm, so named for the garden-variety osteoarthritis nearly all of us get as we age.

But this trochanteric bursitis, my constant, aggravating and tedious companion, defies characterization. And I’ll be honest: I’m almost embarrassed to complain about it. It’s much less painful than a bad rheumatoid arthritis flare. It’s not truly disabling; it hurts, but I can move, I can walk. I can pretty much do everything I need to do even though my hips ache. And ache. And ache. Unlike RA or osteoarthritis, this bursitis ache never takes a break. The only time I can escape from it is when I sleep, and until recently, I couldn’t even do that.

So to what phantom mythical or imaginary character should I assign my bursitis? I’m open to suggestions.