Back to the chiropractor yesterday, and a sense that maybe my back felt the tiniest bit better (keeping in mind I'm practically gargling ibuprofen these days, and that I also visited the physiotherapist and got a little benefit from some new stretching exercises):
"Now, you should know, maybe one in twenty people end up in screaming agony when I do what I'm about to do!" laughs the chiropractor, fists strategically placed on my spine in readiness for another punishing blow. I recline on a table somehow reminiscent of the platform Darth straps Han Solo to, following Lando's betrayal. "So you take it easy there, and we'll see how this goes!"
WHAM. CRUNCH ...
Not so bad. Except I get up this morning and suffer such deep-seated agony I gain an almost intellectual, even Clive Barkeresque appreciation for the experience. The only thing missing while I climb onto the couch and wait for the pain to pass is Pinhead making the occasional sardonic comment.
"It gets a lot worse before it gets a lot better," the woman from the upstairs PR agency tells me a couple of hours later as I hobble into the building where I work. "They don't tell you that the first couple of times you go to a chiropractor, in case you don't come back!"
Thanks for the tip.
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