Ready For My Traction Mr. DeMille

C5, you troubling little vertebrae.

 

 

I'm sure somebody out there can sympathize with my overwhelming desire to hang upside down until my spine pops back into place.  Or is that just weird?

 

 

It's OK...you can say it's weird.

 

 

 

I have never really felt the need to go to a chiropractor, but today, I would love to.  Pleeeeeeeeez, somebody, just pop that bitch back into place. 

 

Of course, if my insurance doesn't cover deadly infections threatening to invade my bloodstream, what makes me think they would foot the bill to have somebody return C5 to it's proper location?  I mean, we're talking anywhere from a quarter to a half-inch here...this is bound to be expensive.

 

 

When I was first injured several years ago, after all the soft tissue stopped freaking out, I spent a lot of time in traction, which, I must tell you, was lovely.  Don't believe anyone who tells you that it isn't.  You lay on a table, relaxed and meditative, and things are slowly pulled back into place, and after that, some muscular physical therapist (mine happened to be a guy) gives you a killer neck massage.  Let's face it--each and every one of us has been on worse dates than that.

 

That same physical therapist showed me how to do The Home Version of traction, involving hanging my head and shoulders off the edge of my bed (and mind you, this is for MY particular issue, so don't try this at home unless somebody with an MD tells you to) and that is definitely in the plans for the next several evenings. 

 

What a total geek thing that is...

 

"What are you doing tonight, Shell?" 

 

"Traction!  It's gonna be awesome!  You should come!"

 

 I wonder if I can get a super-long straw for my drink.

 

 

As a young and healthy person, this particular injury is incredibly annoying--and it is quite difficult to look "cool" when you're using a neck pillow while driving, or leaning way back in your office chair so the weight of your head can temporarily align things (which looks an awful lot like a series of workplace naps).  And the symptoms are a pain in the ass.  It makes you feel friggin' OLD.  At times like these, I regret not pursuing any civil action against the fine oral surgeon who did this while yanking out some teeth.  A two-year headache followed by a lifetime of "Shelly, you have to be extra careful" and intermittent bullshit you would never have even thought of.  Nice.  Maybe I'll just find him and kick him in the balls every time the fingers on my left hand start to tingle.