My Achin' Back

For a while now, I have been enduring some serious back pain. I'm not talking about a small "Oh, I think I pulled something" kind of pain either. No, I'm talking about a pain that drops you to your knees, makes you wet your pants and cry out for your mommy. Being a rough and tumble guy, I do none of those things. I do however occasionally whine to "Wife" about it and use the pain as an excuse to dodge some heavy yard work. A few weeks ago, I decided that enough was enough and I needed to get this taken care of. The thought of being in pain for the rest of my days and not being able to walk may have lead to my decision to call a chiropractor.

Like may of you, I'm wary of the dark arts of chiropractic medicine. We've all heard the stories about the unscrupulous "doctor" who prescribes 2500 sessions. I've had some luck with chiropractors in the past so I figured, " What the hell? I couldn't be any worse off than I am now." I went to a sports medicine and spine specialist.

After viewing my X-Rays, the doctor showed me how my lower spine was twisted. You didn't have to be a trained professional to see it either. My spine was straight as an arrow until it got to the lower four vertebrae. Then it shot farther to the right than a Bill O'Reilley rant. The doctor also informed me that my discs were degenerating and that there were bone spurs jutting out of my vertebrae like the bony fingers of paralysis. Man, what great news. I could see myself in the future, nestled into my wheel chair like Raymond Burr in "Ironside". While that was a great show, it didn't seem like the way I wanted to live. I doubt I could find a willing assistant to load me in and out of my tricked out van.

While I pondered a future that involved a "Rascal" scooter, the doc told me that with physical therapy I would be able to strengthen the muscles in my "core" and keep my back from twisting and turning like teens at a 1953 sock hop. Oh goody. I always wanted a strong "core" even though I wasn't sure what that meant. The doctor said I would need three sessions a week for the next three weeks and then took me to see the therapists.

I'll give you the details tomorrow. I like the "To be continued" format. It builds drama and keeps the reader hooked. It's like a great TV episodic. What will happen to me? Will the therapist kill me or only wound my pride. Those answers tomorrow. Same Bat time, same Bat channel. Later...Brian