Who has been to a chiropractor?
I was 5 when I’d had my first chiropractic treatment. Age five was decades ago. When I was 5, groovy hordes the world over were busy embracing daisy chains, white vinyl, and LSD. Humans were experimenting, and they believed in so many things. They believed in the ‘Sexy Pineapple Diet’ from Denmark. They believed in random swamis. They believed in belt massagers. But, for some reason, they didn’t really believe in chiropractors.
So why did my mother make an appointment with a chiropractor? More to the point, why did she take me to one? I don’t know. At 5, I was limber enough to kiss my own backside.
All I remember about that visit was the empty, echoing waiting room, the neck pop, and the cool table that went vertical when the chiropractor stepped on a foot pedal.
Chiropractics have come a long way since then.
A couple of months ago, being many decades older than 5, I ended up with some mystery torque that rendered me lame. It was excruciating. Except for the inch-wide swath of shin skin that was numb.
It started as a sharp pain in my tailbone every time I thought of my mom.
I love my mom. She is German, stubborn, independent, and charging through her 80s at a rapid pace. And, as she has stated many times, she would rather live homeless under an overpass than accept assistance from her children. People acquainted with my mom know that this is not an empty threat. She doesn’t make those.
Soon that sharp pain became a throbbing ache, and if I swiveled my not inconsiderable hips, my knees would buckle.
In less than a week, I became immobilized from pain. I was unable to walk, to lie down, or do anything other than sit bolt upright in my husband’s office chair. So we wheeled it into the living room and I spent the following three weeks in his chair, doing nothing but watching reruns of ‘The Great British Bake Off’.’ (Brits use rhubarb in everything. I’m still pondering why.) Watching the Bake Off and eating whatever treats my husband cooked.
And all through those three weeks I went to my chiropractor. All they did was pop everything they could force loose, and use this hand-held percussion instrument on my tense stomach muscles. It was like being sucker punched by a stapler. All to no avail.
They gave me stretching exercises, which would have all been well and good if I could have assumed a position. As it was, I could barely stand. Trips to the bathroom became a risky venture, pitting my ability to speed-crawl against my imminent bladder release.
It became obvious I needed to find another chiropractor.
I went to Dr. Orie Quinn at the recommendation of a friend.
In one visit he’d diagnosed the problem (organ and sciatic issues caused by a virus and emotional stressors) and began treatment. Two hours later, 80% of the pain was gone, and in two treatments I was able to ‘human’ in short bursts.
Dr. Quinn is patient, knowledgeable, and listens attentively to long, rambling, incoherent descriptions of pain. He looks 15, but he has the upper body strength of a Russian housewife. I weigh at least 2 of him, yet he moves my thighs about like bean bags. He yanks my femurs from my hip sockets, popping them just so, yet he can do it without jerking the rest of me off the table. (Perhaps my fat provides enough drag.) He has popped my back through my abdomen without rupturing ovaries. And his elbows cut through butt lard like a hot knife through butter.
He answers questions willingly, tells me what he is doing, and why. He knows many interesting techniques, many of them cutting edge.
My least favorite, but one of the most effective, is the Graston Technique. In layman-speak, the doctor runs the thin edge of what looks like a giant guitar pick over sore bits of your surface. It frees up your body tissue so you can heal. Since it had been performed on the back of me, I had to pull up a YouTube video so I could see how it worked. The doctor in the video was running the dull steel ‘blade’ rapidly over the forearm of a woman who had tennis elbow. He asked her what she was feeling. She replied, “Um… pressure?”
Either she’d lied for the camera, or she has no nervous system.
When the Graston Technique was applied to the backs of my calves, I experienced inner screaming. When I got off the table my agony was imprinted on the facial/toilet seat cover like the Shroud of Turin. It only lasted a few seconds, but the aftereffects were amazing.
He is also an N.E.T. (Neuro Emotional Technique) Ninja. This is a mind-body technique that finds and removes neurological imbalances (Mom) related to unresolved stress (Mom).
And he uses Applied Kinesiology to expertly divine all the secrets under your skin, even your emotions, and then uses it to find the solution.
I am grateful that I discovered Dr. Quinn and his clinic, with its green waiting room walls, tinkling tabletop fountain, and super full body massage chairs. Even Amber, the very pretty and pleasant office manager, has superpowers. Beyond introducing myself on the first visit, she has never had to ask my name. She recognizes everyone after one sighting.
Please share your comments in the ‘leave a comment’ section under this blog. I would love to hear about your own chiropractic adventures.