For anyone who has never been to a Chiropractor before, fasten your seat belt because shit’s about to get real. I’d also like to call out every asshole who brags about the Chiropractor and thinks it’s ‘so relaxing’ and ‘feels so good.’ You’re liars or they sedate you for your appointments in which case, I’ll need a referral. Anyone who knows me or spends 20 minutes with me, knows I’m a crip. My body has betrayed me at 26 and I’m not amused. Since I cannot take recreational volleyball as a leisure activity and insist on Fockering volleyballs in people’s faces, it was of no surprise when I woke up two weeks ago, after a stellar game, to blinding back pain. Since my family genetics have so graciously blessed me with a bad back, I wrote it off for a few days thinking if I self-medicated enough, the problem would subside or I’d be so wacked out I wouldn’t notice it. Neither of those options took place. So I broke down and decided to go see the family Chiropractor. Based on the fact that my family has our own personal adjuster of the spine should prove my earlier statement regarding genetics.
I make my appointment and limp in the office. I round the corner to my first stop. In front of me I see a padded table from the 70s that has a giant roller under the cushion. I thought, ‘this looks interesting, I’ll bite.’ So I hop on the rolling table of torture. Yes that’s the clinical term. The purpose is for the roller to ‘stretch out your vertebra.’ Not sure why this needs to occur in order for me to be able to breathe again but at this point hippos could’ve licked my forehead if it meant being able to stand straight. She cranks the machine on and this oversized rolling pin starts taking off from my head to the bottom of my ass cheeks. I wondered why they sectioned off this device with a curtain from the rest of the machines when suddenly my pelvis starts rising higher and higher like I’m in an 80’s music video sans the purple tights. This motion is so unholy.
After 10-12 minutes on the torture table, I get moved to the stem area. This is an electrocution box with a bunch of cables and wires coming out. She straps some stickers on my back and before I know it, volts of something are being shot through me. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to get me to pee my pants or convulse on the table but both were about to take place so I shot her the peace sign so she knew she could lay off the juice. I laid on the table twitching for about 15 minutes before I’m rescued by my Chiropractor, soon-to-be savoir…or so I thought.
She takes me back to the x-ray room to get a full set of x-rays on my neck and spine. Based on the first paragraph you know I’ve had SEVERAL x-rays in my day so I thought I’d ace this station. Nope. These x-rays consisted of weirdo motions, turns, bends…I was laughing so I had to do retakes. She was not nearly as amused as I was. She brings me in the adjustment room and throws up my x-ray on the light board. I worked in an Orthopedic office for several years so I’ve learned the most important things to identify on an x-ray. Fart/gas pockets, doodey and tampons. All 3 were now staring me back in the face. (the best part is she uses this same x-ray every time I’m there so I get to see it 2-3 times a week) She proceeds to tell me I’m basically fucked. She states she doesn’t understand how I can touch the back of my head in between my shoulder blades….uhh raw talent mofo! Then she tells me she’s had easier times putting 4,000 piece jigsaws together then figured out what the cluster fuck of a spine I have. A this point, all I can think about is do I really need to dood because it says I do right there on the x-ray but I don’t feel the urge.
After she’s done telling me I might as well end it all, it’s time to start my adjustment. Not knowing what to expect I lay down, giddy at the thought of relief. I’m fully expecting some sort of dainty massage type thing…since ALLLLL of these people say how fantastic these ‘sessions’ are. I’m waiting for the calming music, mood lighting, maybe offered an OJ. While I’m daydreaming about spring vs. sparkling bottled water post adjustment, my pants are yanked down exposing my butt crack. Don’t be a perv, they weren’t around my ankles. I didn’t know if I was more impressed that she got them over my hips without a shimmy or if I was more startled by the aggressive manner in which my crack was now exposed. Evidently there’s a tendon or ligament of some sort that she has to pull and hold in order to make the adjustments. This miracle body part is conveniently located in between your cheeks like ½ inch from your crack. Do what you have to do but couldn’t you give a home girl some warning? Her touch was about as gentle as bowling balls being thrown at me, the lighting was frying my brain and the only music was my screams into the tissue paper lined headrest that was now covered in facial grease.
Something in the medical field is my back up option should this whole design/art thing not pan out but I can tell you one thing for sure….I will NOT be a chiropractor. Can you imagine how many butts she’s touched? Old ones, young ones, hairy, waxed, dirty, smelly, rusty (I now know what this is thanks to Honey Boo Boo child)…no thanks.
* Do me a solid and leave your thoughts or pimp yourself out in the comment section. You can also subscribe by hitting that stupid RSS button to the right if you’d like to be notified when I post shit. Riveting, I know.
I make my appointment and limp in the office. I round the corner to my first stop. In front of me I see a padded table from the 70s that has a giant roller under the cushion. I thought, ‘this looks interesting, I’ll bite.’ So I hop on the rolling table of torture. Yes that’s the clinical term. The purpose is for the roller to ‘stretch out your vertebra.’ Not sure why this needs to occur in order for me to be able to breathe again but at this point hippos could’ve licked my forehead if it meant being able to stand straight. She cranks the machine on and this oversized rolling pin starts taking off from my head to the bottom of my ass cheeks. I wondered why they sectioned off this device with a curtain from the rest of the machines when suddenly my pelvis starts rising higher and higher like I’m in an 80’s music video sans the purple tights. This motion is so unholy.
After 10-12 minutes on the torture table, I get moved to the stem area. This is an electrocution box with a bunch of cables and wires coming out. She straps some stickers on my back and before I know it, volts of something are being shot through me. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to get me to pee my pants or convulse on the table but both were about to take place so I shot her the peace sign so she knew she could lay off the juice. I laid on the table twitching for about 15 minutes before I’m rescued by my Chiropractor, soon-to-be savoir…or so I thought.
She takes me back to the x-ray room to get a full set of x-rays on my neck and spine. Based on the first paragraph you know I’ve had SEVERAL x-rays in my day so I thought I’d ace this station. Nope. These x-rays consisted of weirdo motions, turns, bends…I was laughing so I had to do retakes. She was not nearly as amused as I was. She brings me in the adjustment room and throws up my x-ray on the light board. I worked in an Orthopedic office for several years so I’ve learned the most important things to identify on an x-ray. Fart/gas pockets, doodey and tampons. All 3 were now staring me back in the face. (the best part is she uses this same x-ray every time I’m there so I get to see it 2-3 times a week) She proceeds to tell me I’m basically fucked. She states she doesn’t understand how I can touch the back of my head in between my shoulder blades….uhh raw talent mofo! Then she tells me she’s had easier times putting 4,000 piece jigsaws together then figured out what the cluster fuck of a spine I have. A this point, all I can think about is do I really need to dood because it says I do right there on the x-ray but I don’t feel the urge.
After she’s done telling me I might as well end it all, it’s time to start my adjustment. Not knowing what to expect I lay down, giddy at the thought of relief. I’m fully expecting some sort of dainty massage type thing…since ALLLLL of these people say how fantastic these ‘sessions’ are. I’m waiting for the calming music, mood lighting, maybe offered an OJ. While I’m daydreaming about spring vs. sparkling bottled water post adjustment, my pants are yanked down exposing my butt crack. Don’t be a perv, they weren’t around my ankles. I didn’t know if I was more impressed that she got them over my hips without a shimmy or if I was more startled by the aggressive manner in which my crack was now exposed. Evidently there’s a tendon or ligament of some sort that she has to pull and hold in order to make the adjustments. This miracle body part is conveniently located in between your cheeks like ½ inch from your crack. Do what you have to do but couldn’t you give a home girl some warning? Her touch was about as gentle as bowling balls being thrown at me, the lighting was frying my brain and the only music was my screams into the tissue paper lined headrest that was now covered in facial grease.
Something in the medical field is my back up option should this whole design/art thing not pan out but I can tell you one thing for sure….I will NOT be a chiropractor. Can you imagine how many butts she’s touched? Old ones, young ones, hairy, waxed, dirty, smelly, rusty (I now know what this is thanks to Honey Boo Boo child)…no thanks.
* Do me a solid and leave your thoughts or pimp yourself out in the comment section. You can also subscribe by hitting that stupid RSS button to the right if you’d like to be notified when I post shit. Riveting, I know.