I had my very first appointment with a chiropractor today (as in, first ever in my life). With a 4,000+ mile road trip ahead of me, I thought it might be a good idea to get myself straightened out beforehand (or un-straighted out, more precisely, as I was soon to learn). She was exactly how I pictured her: shortish and slim with thick, curly, crazy salt-and-pepper hair and a warm smile. Her name was Jodi and I think I'm in love with her.
Okay, probably an exaggeration (and probably inappropriate since she's ACTUALLY gay--as opposed to my pretend, girl-crush gay--and happily married), but I'm still pretty sure she's an angel. I've been having back pain for the past six months or so; not enough to be debilitating, but enough to frequently interfere with social activities like concerts and dinner events and enough to often disrupt my sleep. Because I'm brain-dead and college clearly did nothing for my reasoning skills, I failed to connect this back pain with the car accident I was involved in back in January, in which I hit a patch of black ice late at night on a back road in Vermont and flipped my pickup truck over a snowbank onto the roof. I escaped completely unscathed, except for a little whiplash in my neck that left me sore for all of three days and--apparently--a little brain damage that left me utterly stupid for connecting-the-dots. That is, until today, when Jodi asked me if I had received any great trauma to my body in the last year, such as a car accident, and--with a nearly audible "DING!"--the lightbulb finally went on in my head.
Jodi asked me some more questions and hit with a rubber hammer a few times (checking my reflexes, of course), and then took a couple x-rays, with she proceeded to show to me. Now, I'm not doctor or chiropractor, but even I know what a spine is supposed to look like and all I could think to say was, "Daaaaaang...". Intelligent, I know. It was fairly obvious that my spine was straight where it was supposed to be curvy and curvy where it was supposed to be straight. And that's bad. Having explained all this (and more) to me--in small words so I'd be sure to keep up--Jodi led me to the nice, cushioned table and prepped me with a little massage, which was MORE than welcome. Then came the really fun part.
More deftly than a woman of her stature ought to be capable of, Jodi twisted me up like a pretzel and literally JUMPED on top of me. It sounded like she took a fresh roll of bubble-wrap and wrung it out with her hands, and it felt just as satisfying. It was all I could do to keep from giggling with joy as she snapped and cracked my spine like a brand-new glow stick. I left the office with a list of five new appointments over the next two-and-a-half weeks and a lovely little spring in my step. Well, technically a spring in my LIMP, since I sprained my ankle last week playing basketball and still have to walk with a crutch. But that's beside the point.
The point is...the point...is...
...okay, I guess I don't really know what the point is. Story of my life.
All I really know is that I have found a new obsession: Chiropractors--they do it by manipulation.
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