Medical Monday :: Progress

Let’s call her ‘Nursey’. Actually, let’s not. That’s a rubbish name, and also potentially rather patronising. Let’s call her Dr Lovely.

So, after hearing all about my stomach pain on Friday, and then prodding me for a while, both physically and verbally, Dr Lovely gave me a couple of pieces of paper. One of them I'm to take to one hospital and have blood taken from me, after first fasting for twelve hours; the other I have to take to another hospital and arrange for an ultrasound.

‘Is that OK?’ she said. ‘Are you content?’

I liked Dr Lovely. She was extortionately personable.

I’d also told her about my back problems and the fact that I’d been seeing a very expensive chiropractor. In response, Dr Lovely not only gave me a brief but detailed and useful overview of workstation ergonomics, but she also informed me that her surgery had a resident osteopath with whom I was welcome to make an appointment.

When we were all done and she was writing up my request forms, I mentioned the knot of lactic acid which Naomi had identified in the small of my back. I told her that when I’d first discovered it, aged 19 or so, I had assumed it was cancer and had gone along to the doctors to receive the last rites, only to be told that it merely a sebaceous cyst, and utterly benign. Charming even. Dr Lovely had a little look and told me immediately that it was too near the surface to be lactic acid. It was definitely a cyst of some kind. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I mean, is there no room for doubt?’ She shook her head. ‘This doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in my chiropractor,’ I said.

‘I can understand that,’ said Dr Lovely.

At reception on my way out, I was informed that there'd been a cancellation later that afternoon, so I returned a couple of hours later and shook the stout strong hand of the osteopath. Let’s call him Dr Payne.

Half an hour later, on leaving the surgery, I actually felt better. It didn’t last that long, but for a while I could feel a definite improvement. Plus, where Naomi couldn’t actually manage to make my lower spine go ‘pop’, Dr Payne managed it in seconds. He even stuck some needles in me for good measure. And he explained lots of things to me about the two sets of muscles in my back and how the smaller, postural ones which deal with the day to day movement of the body sometimes get a little lazy and fall into disuse. Plus when he massaged the larger muscles in my back, it really really hurt. At one stage, just to illustrate something he was saying, he had a go at one of my shoulders. I can’t actually remember what he was saying because the tremendous pain immediately blocked everything else out. I do remember telling him that what he was doing was agony, and he explained – whilst gleefully digging in a thumb – ‘That’s because this what we call a “trigger point”.’ The sadistic bastard.

Still. Rather a sadistic but effective, free bastard than an extortionate and weak-fingered fool. Sorry, Naomi, but I feel rather let down if I’m honest.

Indeed, the first thing I did on returning home was to cancel my next appointment with the chiropractor.

So. On the whole, Friday was very satisfactory. I still have a pain in the stomach and I still have a bad back, but at least I’m doing something about them. The one thing I didn’t make any progress on was my increasingly distressing and frankly rather unpleasant anus. The fact is, I was embarrassed. Dr Lovely was simply too lovely, and clearly too much of a lady to even have to hear about such an abomination. Let alone potentially look at it, or give it a poke. I think I might hang on for a male doctor. It feels kind of cowardly, like someone refusing to buy condoms from a female pharmacist, but there it is. On the other hand though, coward? Or gentleman?

Yeah, OK, I'm a coward.

Bye for now. And here's wishing you a Happy Monday. I hope your anus is in better shape than mine.

Back and Forth

I went back to the chiropractor this afternoon having more or less decided that it would be my last session. I know I was told at the beginning of the first session that there were no quick-fix cures, but even so, after two full sessions, I was starting to lose faith. Plus, it’s really back-breakingly expensive.


Then, as I was waiting to be seen, I noticed a certificate on the wall of the reception. It belonged to another of the chiropractors at the same practice. It was a framed diploma. In aromatherapy. Now I don’t know about you – although I can guess, because you come across as pretty cynical on the whole – but whenever I hear the word ‘aromatherapy’, I smell a rat. A large, new age rat with chimes for teeth and a trail of crystals and 'healing stones' oozing out of its puckered rear end. For me, it’s a dirty great sham. The champagne of shams. Snake oil, essentially. Tangerine and lavender – no matter how pleasant on the olfactory neurons – will not cure cancer and will not bring about peace in the Middle East.

So that diploma put the nail in the coffin. I had decided. No more chiropractic. Next time I would try osteopathy.

But then I went into that little room with Naomi and I stripped down to my pants and lay on the table – Naomi asks me just to take my top off but I insist on stripping down to my pants – and by the end of half an hour of pummelling and manipulating, I had decided to go back.

I don’t know – no one knows – but... Naomi could be The One.

I know it sounds silly, but something in the way she tenderly holds my neck, just before she violently jerks it till it goes ‘click’; something in the way this afternoon her hand gently and quite unnecessarily brushed my calf; something in the way she offered me a piece of her underwear at the end of today’s session… Well, it might have been hers. A stocking, or a sheer sock of some kind. With a tennis ball in it…

I don’t know. No one knows. You know? But let’s face it, I am a giant lactic acidic knot of love and there is every possibility that she wants me.

Speaking of which, I must tell you about Morag. Tomorrow. If at all possible.

Hope you're well. Until soon.

Feedback Friday :: Spine

bulk :: 16st 4
cigarettes smoked :: 0
joints smoked :: 0
units of alcohol imbibed :: 10ish
letters of complaint toiled over :: 1
chiropractic visits :: 2
chiropractic fantasies :: 6

So. Let’s call her Naomi. Naomi is slight of frame and dark of skin, with wonderful posture and lovely strong hands. I felt slightly ashamed to be honest, standing there in front of her with my stoop and my belly and my big baggy undies. At least they were clean though. Ish.

She started by asking me questions about my medical history. She was interested in my mother’s arthritis and wanted to know whether it was rheumatoid arthritis or osteoarthritis. I told her I didn’t know. She said maybe I could find out. I told her my mother was dead and that my father and I are severely estranged. She said, ‘Oh.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘Quite,’ I said. Then there was a pause, in which I think we both felt slightly uncomfortable. ‘Maybe I can find out anyway,’ I said, in an attempt to jolly things up a bit. But actually, maybe I can. I’ve been thinking about my Dad quite a bit recently. I’ve been thinking that I should make an effort to see him, and reconcile with him, before I wake up one morning to a letter telling me that he’s dead. Because then, even though I don’t think I have anything to feel guilty about, I will feel guilty. And that will suck.

After our little chat, Naomi proceeded to poke and prod me with her bright little hands, trying to find out what hurt and what didn’t. Typically, nothing hurt, as my back had decided to start behaving itself just a couple of days before my first session.

The best part of that first session was undoubtedly when Naomi covered her sweet little fingers with some medical massage oil and rubbed it into my big old rubbery stretch-marked back. It was so pleasant that I was afraid I might sustain an erection, and then when I didn’t, for some reason I was actually quite disappointed. Weirdo.

The worst part of the visit was when Naomi had me straddle the table with my arms crossed over my chest, then grabbed my upper body and twisted it sharply. I enjoyed the proximity, don’t get me wrong. I even didn’t mind her slightly rotten breath on my face – it was after all, human breath, and that’s better than no breath at all (it’s also better than cat breath). What upset me though, was that she wasn’t able to make my spine go ‘pop’. That’s what was supposed to happen. But it didn’t. Naomi was also disappointed. I could tell. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘It should really be easier than that.’ Made me feel like a bit of a failure if I’m honest.

The second session was slightly more interesting as my spine gave way a little and I left with a huge pain in my neck. Overall though, I’m still not sure about this chiro lark. Although it’s undeniably pleasant to have an attractive and attentive young woman laying her hands on my naked flesh, that’s really not enough of an incentive. After all, for the same money, or even less, I could have an attractive and attentive young woman lay much more than mere hands on me. For me to continue with this, there has to be some sort of tangible result. So I’ve decided, I’ll give it five sessions, and if by the end of that time my spine is not popping like a field of corn and I’m not as lithe as a whip, then I think I’ll cut my losses and give pilates a go instead.

(Incidentally, Naomi told me to lay off the exercise until a few sessions in, which is why I haven’t been running. She’s going to give me some stretches to do. Gosh. Stretches. I can barely contain my joy.)

So. What else has this week offered? Well, not much, I have to say. I’ve been working quite hard on something financial and far too tedious to go into. I have a dull pain in my gut which I reckon could be stomach cancer. And I had a Magnum ice cream in a large bowl of cherry yoghurt. This undoubtedly was the highlight of my week.

Cristiano Ronaldo, eat my shorts.

Christ, I’ve got to find a girlfriend. I really have.

So I think it might be time to give the internet another crack of the whip.

Or maybe I should ring a chat line.

No.

The internet.

The internet will save me.

But first I’m going to disinfect my life. I may be some time.

Have a simply gorgeous weekend.

You’re worth it.