Katie in Chicago (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pass_da_pierogi) wrote,@ 2008-11-30 21:10:00 |
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Snap Crackle Pop
About a month ago I was in yet another car accident in the Chicagoland area.
This time I wasn't driving. My boyfriend, Nick, was driving me back from a salsa lesson he'd signed us up for. It was one of our first dates. As we approached an intersection with a green light, a cop on the road perpendicular to ours suddenly switched on his lights and siren.
There was a moment of indecision. Do we rush in front of the police car or try desperately to stop? Nick hit the brakes. The cop moved past us. I sighed in relief, still watching the road ahead of us. At this point, Nick told me later, Nick looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but grill.
He turned to say something. But all I noticed was that suddenly, I felt someone slam the back of my neck with a baseball bat.
The car skidded into the intersection. We had been rear-ended. We looked behind us and saw the other party -- a semi truck.
Nick pulled over to the side of the road and called the police. I rubbed the base of my skull, which had been flung into the headrest. I had just heard part of a radio program talking about how fighters who don't see a blow coming don't tense up their necks in anticipation and are more prone to being knocked out and damaging their brains. "My brain!" I kept thinking. "I need that!"
We talked to the police, and eventually paramedics showed up in an ambulance to check me out. They said we could go to the hospital, but that it probably would be nothing.
"Did you pass out?" they asked me while checking my blood pressure.
"No."
"Then you don't have a concussion. You're fine."
The back of Nick's car was dented, and we had to pry it from where it had squished into the left rear wheel, but it was driveable. He bought me an entire sack of ice, wrapped a few chunks in a wetted towel and sat with me while I chilled my sore neck.
It hurt for a few days, but I never got a headache, so I didn't worry about it.
A few weeks ago we had a health fair at work. One of the tables set up was for a chiropractor, and they were offering free massages.
I signed up. The back rub was fine, but as soon as the woman giving me the massage touched my neck, I yelped and held up a hand. "Too hard!" I said.
"I just barely touched you," she said. "See, this is how hard I was pushing." She demonstrated on my shoulder. She went back to my neck.
"Ow!"
I told her about the car accident. Apparently I was not all better. Of course she signed me up to come in to her office.
Now I've been by a few times. They determined that I had a decreased range of motion since the accident. I went through a seven-pose photo shoot with the x-ray machine, after which I was told that the vertebrae in my lower neck did not bend as much as they were supposed to. My cartilage is compressed at the top.
They prescribed three sessions a week for a month of spine adjustment. I told them they could have three times a week for three weeks, then I'd see how I felt.
I had my first adjustment last week.
"See how far you can turn your neck?" the woman told me, turning my head from side to side as I lay on the padded table. "Now all I'm going to do," she said, pushing my neck awkwardly up and to the side, "is put your neck like this and hit it really quick."
How reassuring.
I protested, but she did whatever she did. I couldn't really tell what it was she had done. I heard two pops and it was over. She pulled my head the other direction.
"Wait before you do the next one!" I said, trying to process what was going on. Pop!
She lay me back down. I expected more neck adjustments, but she was done with that.
"Now we're going to get to know each other really well," she said. "You give yourself a big hug. I'm going to pick you up and lower you down on my knee."
Crackcrack!
"What does that have to do with my neck?!" I demanded.
"If we just adjust part of your spine, it won't move enough," she said, turning me to the side.
"Now you're going to feel like you're about to fall off the table, but you won't," she said. "Straighten out the leg that's on the table and bend your other one. I'm going to pull you."
Pop pop pop!
She did the other side.
"There," she said with a satisfied grunt, "you've just had your first adjustment. I'll see you next week."
About a month ago I was in yet another car accident in the Chicagoland area.
This time I wasn't driving. My boyfriend, Nick, was driving me back from a salsa lesson he'd signed us up for. It was one of our first dates. As we approached an intersection with a green light, a cop on the road perpendicular to ours suddenly switched on his lights and siren.
There was a moment of indecision. Do we rush in front of the police car or try desperately to stop? Nick hit the brakes. The cop moved past us. I sighed in relief, still watching the road ahead of us. At this point, Nick told me later, Nick looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but grill.
He turned to say something. But all I noticed was that suddenly, I felt someone slam the back of my neck with a baseball bat.
The car skidded into the intersection. We had been rear-ended. We looked behind us and saw the other party -- a semi truck.
Nick pulled over to the side of the road and called the police. I rubbed the base of my skull, which had been flung into the headrest. I had just heard part of a radio program talking about how fighters who don't see a blow coming don't tense up their necks in anticipation and are more prone to being knocked out and damaging their brains. "My brain!" I kept thinking. "I need that!"
We talked to the police, and eventually paramedics showed up in an ambulance to check me out. They said we could go to the hospital, but that it probably would be nothing.
"Did you pass out?" they asked me while checking my blood pressure.
"No."
"Then you don't have a concussion. You're fine."
The back of Nick's car was dented, and we had to pry it from where it had squished into the left rear wheel, but it was driveable. He bought me an entire sack of ice, wrapped a few chunks in a wetted towel and sat with me while I chilled my sore neck.
It hurt for a few days, but I never got a headache, so I didn't worry about it.
A few weeks ago we had a health fair at work. One of the tables set up was for a chiropractor, and they were offering free massages.
I signed up. The back rub was fine, but as soon as the woman giving me the massage touched my neck, I yelped and held up a hand. "Too hard!" I said.
"I just barely touched you," she said. "See, this is how hard I was pushing." She demonstrated on my shoulder. She went back to my neck.
"Ow!"
I told her about the car accident. Apparently I was not all better. Of course she signed me up to come in to her office.
Now I've been by a few times. They determined that I had a decreased range of motion since the accident. I went through a seven-pose photo shoot with the x-ray machine, after which I was told that the vertebrae in my lower neck did not bend as much as they were supposed to. My cartilage is compressed at the top.
They prescribed three sessions a week for a month of spine adjustment. I told them they could have three times a week for three weeks, then I'd see how I felt.
I had my first adjustment last week.
"See how far you can turn your neck?" the woman told me, turning my head from side to side as I lay on the padded table. "Now all I'm going to do," she said, pushing my neck awkwardly up and to the side, "is put your neck like this and hit it really quick."
How reassuring.
I protested, but she did whatever she did. I couldn't really tell what it was she had done. I heard two pops and it was over. She pulled my head the other direction.
"Wait before you do the next one!" I said, trying to process what was going on. Pop!
She lay me back down. I expected more neck adjustments, but she was done with that.
"Now we're going to get to know each other really well," she said. "You give yourself a big hug. I'm going to pick you up and lower you down on my knee."
Crackcrack!
"What does that have to do with my neck?!" I demanded.
"If we just adjust part of your spine, it won't move enough," she said, turning me to the side.
"Now you're going to feel like you're about to fall off the table, but you won't," she said. "Straighten out the leg that's on the table and bend your other one. I'm going to pull you."
Pop pop pop!
She did the other side.
"There," she said with a satisfied grunt, "you've just had your first adjustment. I'll see you next week."
