Butthurt. Literally.

Chiropractors used to get a really bad rap. Now that rap goes almost wholly to naturopaths. Some of the bad rap for naturopaths is quite justified; just as allopathy (mainstream medicine) is much too segmented a system, naturopathy seems like a place where the good doctors all too often confuse their egos with their purpose.

This has to have taken the heat off of chiropractors. Still, childhood dinner table talk still rang in my head about how chiropractors were “the original quacks.”  Just as with every other practitioner I’ve seen, I marched (or in this case) limped on, right over top of my skepticism.

They sent me to the intern. I’m not sure why – for some reason practices like to hand me off to the person still learning. The man who greeted me messed up on my name. He probably played football or rugby at some point. His eyes were flat, brown – the dead look of either the dull-witted or the abuse survivor. I guessed dull-witted, prejudiced by the foul up with my name.

English: Sciatic nerve
English: Sciatic nerve (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He was not dull witted, and he rapidly figured out from helping me move my body in new ways that I am much more than I appear as well. The years of isolation moves from bellydance built up. My hips were off  alignment- something a masseuse had commented on years before. The reason I suddenly went from sprain to shin splints with no recognizable injury was because multiple swollen muscles pinched on the sciatic nerve – leaving me in agony for the week prior to seeing him.

Andrew Weil would have a field day with this. For too many years, I ignored a literal pain in my ass – and then the pain incapacitated me. Given the number of times ignoring the metaphorical version has bitten me in the butt…

A pop and click of my hips adjusted me enough that I could walk several more steps before pain kicked in. After a few rides up and down the hydraulic chiropractic table (he said he’d only ever seen kids have as much fun with it as I did) he sent in a masseuse who worked on my posterior with her hands and an ultrasound machine to break up years of scar tissue, all for melting into my bloodstream.

My injury was explained, along with the reasoning behind the treatment. I had to reevaluate the man who got my name wrong. I also realized that he saw my body differently from every medical practitioner that had seen me prior. He didn’t see BMI. He saw muscles, skeleton, and a history of over-exercise that almost no one would guess from looking at me. Two friends mentioned that they saw chiropractors instead of GPs in early childhood. Now I’m thinking about it. Now I want to see where this course of treatment might go.

I have to go back- five more visits. But with no medicine, and very little pain beyond what I was already in, I was put in much, much better shape. I have to do stretches every hour, and ice my rear every hour. I’m able to walk for longer periods, although standing is still difficult.

I couldn’t stand for all of it, but I got through the setup of the Rose Cross this afternoon. I haven’t taken any painkillers, not even Tylenol, in 24 hours.

Mike is worried about the cost – justifiably. I can’t go back for the visits until we know what our insurance plans to cover. I’m pretty sure that 6 visits is their standard, what insurance is prepared to cover. No idea what the coverage is on an ultrasound massage.

So while I tell people I almost broke my ass, it’s more like I simply ignored too many pains in my butt.

 

 

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