Chiropractic

“When did you learn Klompendansen?” My wife asked as I came in through the back door after work.

“I don’t know Klompendansen,” I snarled. “My back is out of place. Call the chiropractor!” Sheesh, she is a smart alec when I am in pain.

Chiropractic, where the sounds Snap, Crackle, Pop aren’t necessarily coming from a bowl of Kellogg’s Rice Krispies. I’ve been going to chiropractors most of my life. When I was born, the doctor hung me upside down, slapped me on the bum to start me breathing and gave me a back adjustment. Well, I was curled up in a ball for nine months.

Though I may go to the chiropractor up to 20 times a year, it’s always for a legitimate reason: my body is falling apart. My hair already fell off and I am always looking out for other body parts which may have fallen off too.

It seems that my aches and pains fall into three easy to identify categories: low back, upper back/shoulders, and neck.  Low back, not to be confused with hips can be identified by the way I am bent either to the right or left, (I am ambidextrous). I look like a quarter moon. I also have a tendency to walk in the direction of the lean. It’s like trying to steer a car straight with one flat front tire. 

The upper back area being out gives me constant stomach burning. More than once I have burped a ball of fire which makes me a hazard in the woods during high forest fire conditions.

Lastly is the neck area. This is identifiable by not being able to turn my head and therefore having to rotate my whole upper torso to see something behind me. I always wondered why seniors tend to back their cars into things; they simply cannot turn their heads to look behind them. I can remember being in Jamaica and getting rolled onto the beach while body surfing. I twisted my neck and shoulder so severely that I visited a local chiropractor to try to relieve the pain. His office was on a back road and the house smelled like pot. I should have looked for a certificate of his training on the wall. I also believe he had complex tourettes which would have been nice to know before he started adjusting my neck. Just as he had me on the table and grabbed my head, he had an involuntary movement.

“Uh oh,” he mumbled. “Went a bit far that time.”

“Well this is great,” I thought. “At least with my head pointing this way I can see if I need to dust the sand off the rear of my swimsuit.”

After a few more flicks and twists he had me back in alignment and after robbing me of all the US cash in my pocket he sent me out the door with a Bob Marley tee shirt and some brownies he said would make me feel better.

In the Chiropractic code of ethics, I have found that they don’t talk about or prescribe pain medications. The go-to answer is: ice.

“How about ibuprofen?”

“No! Ice.”

“Acetaminophen?”

“No! Ice.”

“Naproxen? Morphine?”

“No! Ice.”

First of all ice is hard to swallow and if I keep my mouth full of it I get brain freeze.

I believe in Chiropractic, massage therapy and physical therapy. I’ve yet to try acupuncture, which I will try if they do not use needles. Oh yes, I did try aromatherapy when I was in sixth-grade but that was in the middle school boy’s locker room after the eighth grade football team tied me up in a laundry bag of dirty socks and jocks.

If you are hesitant to try chiropractors because you envision lying on the mat at a WWF match while a 280 pound wrestler in a mask slams you around and ties you in knots remember, when the bell rings you feel so much better.

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