I’ve been to a chiropractor four times in my life, and I was sort of thrown into it. My mother in-law swears by it, even though it’s my unprofessional opinion that it’s completely bogus. She says it releases toxins from the joints that build up, opens pathways, and all of the other stuff that evidence based science people groan about. Granted, some alternative medicine is completely legitimate.
When my husband returned from Korea we spent two weeks at his parent’s house, yet somehow I survived to tell this story! She gabbed about me with her chiropractor, and he said “You should bring her in! I’d love to get my hands on her.” Creep!
Oy vey. MIL doesn’t fully understand my neurological issues because she thinks I’m too stupid to understand what the doctors say to me. She thought taking me to get my back cracked would be the magical fix for my neuropathy. It’s no use arguing with her. I could have said no, but she was paying, so I figured I’d go ahead and waste her money.
What happened? Absolutely nothing. There was no change in numbness and function, but I did hurt more in places that rarely bothered me. Oh yay, more pain. Thanks harpy, you slag. The one good thing that did come out of it is that I had plain x-rays taken of my L-spine, which showed some pretty gnarly shit going on in my lumbosacral area. He recommended I take the report to my doctor and have an MRI ordered, and that’s when they found the bulging discs (one of which ruptured a month later), and foraminal/spinal stenosis. So, we know about all of that shit now, I’m supposed to see a guy about getting coristone epidurals to make me a happy, shiny person. I don’t want surgery on my back. Ever. I know how the treatment train rolls, so here’s me being a wimp and avoiding it.
Going to the chiropractor was mostly pointless, but sometimes I’m sitting here at home, and I just want to crack my back. It feels tight, shitty, and crunchy. Sometimes I hang off of the side of the bed and get to crackin’ that way, then others I ask my husband to do it for me by giving me a bear hug and picking me up off of the ground, then bouncing me. Nope, that’s not foreplay. That’s DIY chiropractic and it’s a stupid thing to do, but everybody’s doin’ it, so it must be okay!
2013’ish, I separated a rib doing this with him. It was pretty terrible. Anyone who has cracked or bruised a rib before knows it fucking hurts to breathe for a long long time, and it heals slowly. AP and Lateral chest x-rays, in the order notation “pt’s husband hugged her too hard, please evaluate”. Haha, busted!
Fast forward to 2016, tonight. I’ve been fucking around with a tension headache bordering on a migraine for most of the afternoon and felt like I needed to be cracked. I got my bear hug *pop pop pop*, aaaaaah. Then he asked if I thought I was good for any more pops, so I turned around and he picked me up while standing behind me. Bouncy, bouncy, “ARRRRRRRG MOTHERFUCKER!”
Oh yes, we did it again. I popped a riblet, and the hurt won’t fucking quit. Once every three years isn’t too bad, right? Now I’m compelled by the resident bone person to make an extra trip to the clinic to rule out fracture, then load a bucket full of STRONG pain medication. Anyone who makes me laugh in the next few weeks, do so knowing it’ll make me want to poop in your favorite shoes.