things that decorated his office. Among the bi-plane models, corvette Z06 car and plastic spines, there was Jesus string art:
and an empty gumball machine:
and the window I almost escaped out of:
Good thing my angst was unfounded. After I was tested for mobility, x-rayed, and placed in various positions on a table ("If you're going to ask me if that hurts - the answer is yes!!!") and a few accidental flashes (those tables were NOT made for the chubby - nor were the split up the back gowns!) I was finally hooked up to some electrodes and shocked for a good 20 minutes.
I, the sicko, loved it!!
I'm back the next day, sitting in a chair with more of those relentless butterflies. My stomach is rumbling and my lunch, eaten while typing emails to various supervisors about god-knows-what, is trying to make a reappearance.
Dr. Chiroman then calls me back, shocks me some more and then shows me my spine. It's a little un-moving-like at the bottom so as he explains to me in far more detail than my layman mind can comprehend I stare at the xray and wonder how my tiny spine can hold up my non-tiny chub. It looked - scared. Fragile - even.
"What caused this?" I asked him, fearing the worst would start with "good steaks and food with flavor" and end with "chocolate bon-bons."
"That's like trying to determine what exact food caused a cavity" he said and I was content.
Then he put me on the table and jumped on me.
I was so surprised by it that I couldn't react.
But as my spine cracked - I went "Ohhhhhh" and I knew it was love at first adjustment.
Turning over to my right side my stomach clenched as I knew I was to be laid on again. I was nervous and as he bumped against me to get my spine to crack, the air between the vertebrae, held in all day, suddenly escaped in three short bursts. At least that's what I was telling myself as he continued to manipulate me and my face turned red before my spine cracked and he jumped off of me and ran to the other side of the room.
I was mortified.
Here was this man, trying to save my posture, keep me from pain and trying just to be a good doc and help me and I repay him by farting on him.
He seemed unfazed. I, on the other hand, looked at the plastic spine dangling to my right and tried to figure out how it could be a suicide aid.
So even though I embarrassed myself to no ends - he still wants to see me - three times a week for two weeks and if that doesn't work - MRI time to look for nerve damage.
Either way, whatever he did seem to help as I was able to bend over to pick up stuff I dropped on Monday, yesterday and today I have managed to do a load of laundry.
I have my next appointment tomorrow morning and I'll be there, hopped up on the anti-gas-drug-Beano.
After all, I really only want my spine to crack - nothing else!!!