I had given up, years ago. I got so tired of trying to explain to doctors that my back gives me fits, that there are things I can't do, and that I have chronic pain. If anyone was interested at all, they'd just throw pills at me, which doesn't do anything to stop the problem. I had one doctor, more than a dozen years ago, send me for what I now know was fairly primitive physical therapy, which did some good. But as my activity levels got better and worse, as my weight went dramatically up and down (and up and down and..), and as other medical issues became my primary focus, any benefit from that physical therapy was lost. Two or three years ago, I successfully convinced the man that buying the membership at the chain massage place was worth it, and it wasn't long before he joined me in monthly massages. That's just about all I've done for it in years, other than demanding that the man gives me regular, strong bear hugs, to crunch everything back into alignment. I miss those more than you can imagine.
The first time I visited a chiropractor, back in the salad days (of no health insurance), I was in bad shape. My hips had rotated so far forward that he told me he couldn't believe I was still walking. My spine was pushed forward out of the pelvis, and then arched dramatically up at the waist. I still remember the sound as he snapped me back into the correct position. Since I was a child, my sacro-ilial joint has been too flexible for its own good. That wasn't super helpful during PE class in the 1970s, when we were expected to lie on our backs, with both feet a foot off the ground (oh, the pain), or when I would collapse on the floor after piano lessons, and my grandmother scolded me for being melodramatic. How could a child possibly have a sore back? This has affected nearly everything I've done in my life. I don't ski or skateboard. I stopped taking piano lessons. After a couple bad experiences, I refused to do retail jobs, where I'd be expected to stand for 8 hours without stopping. I don't lift freeweights (although I love controlled weight machines). And I'm the first person in a group to sit down anywhere we are.
So today, sitting on the "Anne table" (as Bones calls it), waiting for my first physical therapy exam for my back, I discovered I was glad for a crowded PT room and a delay in being seen. Sitting unsupported, with one leg dangling off the table and one bent in front of me, my back started to ache. I went from feeling no pain, thinking I'd be dismissed as not being serious, to feeling distressed and re-evaluating what my physical therapy goals would be from this experiment. I want to be able to sit on a surface with no back support (such as a piano bench, or the bleachers at Red Rocks amphitheater) for more than about five or ten minutes, before the pain sets in. Seems reasonable to me. Bones did a thorough exam, as did his new intern. When he sat down and showed me on the toy spine what I looked like, it was no wonder I have been stressed like I have lately. One hip rotated forward, and one hip rotated backwards, and the longer they were like that, the worse they and all the attached muscles were getting. He had me lay back, and he showed me my feet. My left leg was a full inch longer than the right, from being twisted. He put me through my paces, gave me new stretches and exercises that were entirely different than what I was told to do a dozen years ago, and he set me straight (literally). Bless him for being the smartest kid in town.
I've continued to avoid the heat outside, but I was forced into action this evening. When I went out late to water all of the plants, I found a half-eaten green tomato sitting on the rail. This exact thing happened last year (right before the beetles or worms or whatever they were exploded my tomato vines from the inside). Months ago I bought a mole repellent, but never sprinkled it around. Today, I started with the area all around the deck, including pouring it along the deck boards, and watering it down below. I don't know whether the thieves who have been stealing all my tiny watermelons live directly below the deck or not, but judging from how much the dogs try to dig around there, I'm entertaining the possibility. I will see how this first round goes, and put on more as the schedule on the bag tells me to do. I will chase off those little varmints one way or another. The good news is, where the watermelon vines dangle off the deck rails, there are two little melons that haven't been stolen yet. I think the rodents can't reach them. One is the size of a small grape, and the other is as big as a large lemon. I would so love to get to harvest these.
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