Hurts So Good

My twice-weekly chiropractic appointments, necessitated by my ongoing back issues, are often a source of agonizing pain along with relief. For the past four months, my chiropractor has been raking, scraping, pushing and stretching my ailing muscles with devastating force, coaxing them to stretch out and remain so. I jokingly refer to him as the "Dungeon Master"; my own personal provider of screaming pain and persistent bruising.

This morning, while mercilessly grating on a huge deposit of scar tissue near my spine, I could not restrain myself from uttering a groan of protest. In response to my verbal declaration of discomfort, he held up those dreaded, brutal metal tools, and declared,

"You're not here to get babied. You're here to get better."

I told him he should frame that and put it on his wall. Right beside a picture of my severely bruised back.

My friend Rich's chiropractor is even more merciless. When this doctor is inflicting excruciating pain during the course of his treatments, he boldly trumpets,

"Who's your daddy !"

Yes, there is a fine line between a sadist and a chiropractor. I now have irrefutable proof.