Skip to main content

Apparently, you can't fix everything.

Chiropractors sure are good at what they do… convincing you that they will fix you and then taking all your money.

I wanted it to work, I really did.  I wanted to start my “new life” without pain.

They took x-rays and found that I indeed have some serious issues in my lower back, which are due to the fact that I have an asymmetrical skeleton (sounds like careless Halloween décor, no?).  Three adjustments per week for three weeks will get me straightened out, and the pain will start to go away, they promised me.  Okay.  It was expensive (and of course not covered by insurance), but I wanted to cure the problem holistically rather than begging a doctor for vicodin.  I hate taking pills, and the pain was crippling me to the point where it brought tears to my eyes.  I have a very high pain tolerance, but this was becoming so unbearable that I thought being beaten to death by a Vera Bradley purse might be preferable.

So the thrice-weekly adjustments started making a difference, maybe.  The pain actually got worse, but the chiropractor reassured me and informed me that this was normal, due to the fact that my muscles were realigning with my spine.  Or something.  It meant “good things” were happening.  I was making such good progress, he said, so he gave me stretches and exercises to do at home.

Then he tapered me down to twice-weekly, once-weekly, and finally once every two weeks.  The pain never went away, except while I was doing the exercises and stretching he prescribed (which I did faithfully).  I told him as much, and he reminded me to be patient.  It may take a few more weeks before my pain subsides.

Two weeks ago I went in for my latest adjustment, and when he asked me how I was feeling, I told him, more frustrated than usual, that nothing has changed.  I feel great when I’m stretching or moving, but as soon as I resume a stationary position, I stiffen right back up.  To which he replied, “You must just be one of those people who stiffen up easily.  Just be sure you stand up every half hour and stretch.”  So you’re telling me that I probably won’t get out of pain?  “Unfortunately, probably not.  Some people are just like that.  But we will increase your therapy for your next visit so we can really work out those lower back muscles.”

Well played, doc.  By that point, he’d made enough money off of me to refurnish his living room.

Needless to say, although I’m due for my next visit this week, I will not be going back.  I don’t want to bash the chiropractic industry, because it really does feel good to get adjusted.  I’m sure the other health benefits of having a properly aligned spine are worth consideration, but all I wanted was to get out of pain.  Perhaps I will start going again once I have insurance that actually covers the visits.  But until then, I will keep doing my back exercises because it seems to be the only thing that makes my back feel better, even if just for the moment.  And it’s free.  And maybe someday I’ll visit a real doctor and beg for vicodin… however, I assure you I won’t keep it stashed in a Vera Bradley purse.


Popular posts from this blog

Hotel Bar

I can’t answer anymore.
He stabbed the cork and twisted clockwise. “Patience. They’re here only one night. You, a month.”

Pop, pour.
Time stops in a hotel.
A stranger arrived next to me. “Where’re you from?”
Yet again, I answer.

Pop, pour.

Answering the ultimate question: Have all your clocks stopped?

Just Another Day

At 3:15 I get on the bus and take my seat. I dread the next half hour, as usual, but today I also feel kind of numb. I know as soon as Frank gets on the bus, he will kick my shins or smack my forehead on his way through the aisle. I can’t stop thinking about about Callie, though. Or her empty seat on the bus.

The morning started out badly. Callie was absent, so Frank decided to pick on those of us in the front of the bus. He stole my flute and carried it to the back, tossing it to one of his friends, an older boy. He threw it back to me as we got to school, and it hit my face. I was glad Frank didn't take it to his locker, or worse, throw it in the dumpster. That happened to another kid on our bus.

My friends who ride different buses get along fine with the 8th graders. They have fun on the way home. They always do homework or write notes or talk to each other. If I did homework on the bus, it would definitely get stolen. If I wrote a note, Frank would take it and read it in a mocki…

High School Musical

I want to sing something from "Phantom", but Maggie told me not to because that's what everyone else is doing. It doesn't matter. I won't get the lead. I just want to get in so I can be in the dance scene.