I am impressive

So I’ve started going to a chiropractor again.  The foot tingling in one spot sort of pushed me over the edge – not the sore back, sore shoulder, or sore hips.  No, foot tingling is what pushed my slightly hypochondriac self over the edge and onto Yelp searching for someone to fix me.  I found a chiropractor with nothing but five star reviews gushing about how fantastic the practice was.  I decided to give the guy a chance.

He did all the diagnostics as I explained things.  On the form, it said “How did this injury happen?”  I wrote “I have a  special needs child – wear and tear.”  He did x-rays, which showed that most things were where they were supposed to be.  He did a balance test, and was impressed that I had such even balance despite my hips being so off (they’ve always been off.)  I explained how I woke up with whiplash at 14.

Yes, woke up with whiplash.

He was impressed.  And didn’t doubt me like the last person I told.

And then, it came time for the adjustment, where I impressed him with the noises my back could make.  Five months of moving stress, one month of bad mattress, two months of the wrong pillows, all came screaming out of my spine.

It was heavenly.

Since I was a hot mess, he suggested I come back at the end of the week.  So Saturday, I came back.  He asked how I was feeling, and I said “Well I was doing great until this morning, when my daughter crawled into bed with us then proceeded to try to shove me off the bed while spooning with me.”

I love Maura.  I love that she’s a cuddly creature.  But she is a bed hog, and I had spent four hours that morning getting kneed and pushed and wrestling with her for what little of the king sized blanket I had.  At one point, I realized Josh had snuck out, which meant Maura and I were fighting over the same five inches of space on a king sized bed.

Needless to say, any good the chiropractor did on Monday was gone by 8 am Saturday morning.

He sent his massage therapist in to give me a neck rub, in an obvious attempt to win my undying affection, before starting his thing.  When he did the first adjustment on my back, and all the evil came screaming out, he stood back and went “Wow.”

Yep, I impressed him yet again, with my ability to go out of whack quickly.

He went to adjust my hips and went “Holy Cow!”  at how off the one was.  It was the side I was laying on while Maura was trying to push me off the bed.  And it showed.  Me?  I’m so used to being sore all the time, from handling Maura, that I don’t always notice it anymore.  Except when I do.  And then I make all sorts of old guy noises.  Usually first thing in the morning, when I’m trying to stand up straight.  Old Guy Noises.  Urgh.  Ahh.  Gah. Crackle.

Hence why I needed to find a good chiropractor.

I will say, so far, I understand why he has gotten nothing but glowing reviews.

Since Saturday, I’ve been going around thinking “Oh, he’ll yell at me for doing this.”  Like sleeping on the love seat Sunday night (I’m short, but not that short) which required the ottoman strategically placed, so I could watch over Maura while she slept on the other loveseat.  Or how I have to haul Maura up (which impressed one of her aides at school, how I can lift her off the ground – years of practice is what that is.)  Really, what I need to do is bring Maura in so he has a visual of how I manage to mangle myself up on a daily basis.  She’s adorable, but she will do a number on you with her wicked ninja skills.  I ended up with tennis elbow after lifting her into her car seat for…seven years?  The doctor told me to stop doing that.  I just smiled and nodded…

Really, if you know someone who is a caregiver, get them a massage as a gift.  They could use it.

Me, trying to knit and drink tea.  Maura, deciding she needed to snuggle.  Such is life with my long-legged girl.
Maura’s idea of personal space