It's not a strained muscle, it's tendinosis calcarea, according to my GP. (Little calcified bits getting in the workings of my shoulder joint.)
A night of little sleep, but plenty of pain in the *I'm going to be sick* range, drove me to the surgery. An examination (in the same pain range), and a brief explanation. I was amused by the GP's protective gloves, even though there was a stout layer of cloth between my skin and his gloved hand. And why do all GPs seem to have a sports bag full of rubbish flung casually in the middle of the consulting room floor? But I digress.
Prescriptions led to a carrier bag full of tablets, plus a sling.
I now have enough painkillers for at least 6 suicides - no wonder the NHS's budget is enormous. Let's hope the anti-inflammatory tablets do the trick; GP said it should clear up in about a week, come back on Monday.
As it's difficult to knit, I'm hoping for lots of entertaining posts to read on all my favourite blogs. Failing that, I'll have to select one of the hundreds of books in the house...
On the bright side, feeling sick with pain means I haven't eaten all day, which can only be good for the waist-line, or at any rate where the waist-line ought to be.