Queen of Rambles

Don’t you hate static electricity? I hate going grocery shopping these days because the shocks are so bad. I actually yelped in pain on Monday, which prompted a strange man to ask if I was ok.

That’s why it’s so odd that actually, willingly having electricity pumped into your knee doesn’t even hurt. In fact, it is supposed to be healing. That part remains to be seen.

I’m such a mess that I decided I really needed to quite being a shy little cry baby and just call someone. How is it that I can stand up in front of a hundred teenagers, the world’s toughest critics, and explain how to play a silly kid’s game, yet I can’t call a receptionist who is being paid to be nice to me?

Since it feels like my knee popped out of place, I decided that a visit to a chiropractor was in order. It seemed logical. I’ve never been to one and I know a lot of people say they are quacks, but those are the people who’ve never been to one. I also decided a visit to a regular doctor was needed for my fingers, so I had two appointments set up in less than seven minutes. Months of agony, and two short phone calls and I’m on my way to pain-free living.

The chiropractor was named Norman so I was expecting a fish-belly pale old man with large buck teeth, a faded pink shirt, and scraggly white hair. Do not ask me where that image came from. That’s just what the name Norman means to me. Instead, I got a rather handsome, very dark young fellow with a caterpillar brow. I don’t know which would have been worse–serial killer creepy or kinda cute. Both would have made me sweat.

I made my appointment on time, which was a close thing. Going anywhere with a baby makes time move at a different rate. I then had to wait in the waiting room for almost a full half-hour. Thankfully MisterE was quite content to chew his hand for the whole visit, so there were no terrible screams of agony.

Once the doctor saw me he started asking weird questions about Erik and I thought he must be confused. Why did he need to know how old he was and the details of his birth? Why did he need to know where Mike works? Why did he need to know where I lived (it was all in the paperwork I filled out anyway). He did some things with my knee and declared I had a small sprain. He didn’t pop it back into place and I didn’t go on my merry way, jiggety-jog jiggety-jog.

Instead, he took me back to a dark room that had several different tables and other contraptions about. He apologized for the cold and suggested I put MisterE’s jacket back on him. I was confused because I was hot and sweaty and couldn’t conceive of the idea of anyone being cold. Then he got out the electric pads and warned me they would be freezing to the touch when he put them on but they only felt pleasantly cool. Why am I so socially retarded? I was zapped for a long time, long time and even whipped out the boob and discreetly gave MisterE a little afternoon snack. While I was waiting another woman came in for her treatment and she agreed that it was freezing in the room and even yelped when the cold electric thingees touched her back. Am I really that insensitive to cold? Maybe I should be dressing MisterE warmer, but he’s always sweaty.

I was just glad I wasn’t the other woman. She had to lay on her back on the table and her butt was HUGE and I was so glad I didn’t have to lay there and let a strange woman look at my HUGE butt. It seems odd that they’d treat people in the same room like that.

After the electric treatments, I was given an ultrasound treatment and am supposed to go back Friday for even more treatments. Yikes! They really know how to reel a person in. I feel kind of silly because it doesn’t hurt that bad and I thought it would just be a matter of him popping my knee. It is actually worse tonight than it was last night, so I don’t know if this whole thing is going to help or not.

At least he didn’t try to take my picture*.

*Mir has been writing about her adventures with a chiropractor as well. She seems unduly alarmed by his fashion sense. I know I’m just a hippy from the Pacific Northwest, but I find socks with sandals to be perfectly natural and comfortable. In fact, I’ve been known to wear such a combo on occasion. But we all know I have giant feet and I really don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone says about my clothing choices.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 11th, 2006 at 7:17 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.