I’m officially old. That’s ok with me though. I was just telling a friend that age numbers don’t seem to bother people who are happy with where they are in life, and I have no complaints on that front. I do, however, lament that my body seems to have moved into a new stage. Specifically, my back doesn’t feel like complying right now. I expect this to be a temporary problem, but it’s still disconcerting. Little things like bending, reaching, or clothing myself have caused me to make what I can only refer to as “dad sounds,” in which a series of “ooh ooh oohs” and elongated groans accompany such movements.
At first, I only felt this pain in my lower back during very specific (and telling) situations: swaddling a baby and putting a baby down in a crib. It’s that motion of having weight away from my body with an attempted bend that caused the greatest dad sounds. After a week or so though, the sounds weren’t limited to those motions. I’d be on the ground and spend a few seconds trying to figure out how I was supposed to get up from that position. My hands would search my perimeter for a magic lever or something to get me back upright without any kind of bend, reach, twist, or…movement. I began to feeling my lower back in all of its glory doing such hardcore actions as standing, sitting, or foolishly walking. That’s when I called to make an appointment with my doctor, and they gladly got me in the next day.
“So what brings you here today?” asked my friendly and competent doctor. “Back pain,” I said. “Right around here…and I know exactly what caused it.” He cut me off and said that before we got into that, he wanted to know about any history I had of back pain, etc. Then he looked at me with a half smile and said, “Ok, what did you do to yourself?” “I have three-month old twins,” I said, knowing that that would probably be enough to explain away the pain. It was, and he totally remembered his own pain from those same repetitive motions (with just one kid at a time). We chatted for a bit, and after x-rays showed that everything seemed to be where it’s supposed to be, he said, “I think acupuncture and massage is the best first step for you. No need to have you spend $1,000 on an MRI when that should do the trick.” I appreciated that. He picked up the phone and called a number from memory. After giving some of my information to that person, he hung up and said, “Great, she can take you.” “When?” I asked. “Right now – she’s in the building across the street and will be waiting for you.”
On my short walk across the street, I had a few different thoughts. One, I was glad that this should be a relatively easy healing process. Two, I thought it’s great that he had that contact and the familiarity to get me some additional help right then instead of having me remain in pain for a couple more days. Three, I was pleased that he so willingly accepted Eastern medicine as a logical first step for me. I don’t know how common that is, but I have a feeling that some doctors categorically reject all pre-Western practices, so I appreciated it. And four, I realized that I was about to have needles put in me in various places and probably shouldn’t act like a baby about it.
I don’t like needles all that much, but I’ve gotten a lot better recently. I’ve had blood drawn or flu shots/vaccines enough now that it’s standard procedure, but I still can’t say I’m a fan and still have to minimally psych myself up to be manly about it. And I know I’m being picky, but do we really need to have the word “puncture” in this process? Can’t we come up with some euphemism that conveniently ignores that fact that tiny sharp objects will be making holes in my body? I met the puncturist – er, acupuncturist – and we chatted for a few before I assumed the position (face down and the top of my butt hanging out and awaiting needles) and started the process. It wasn’t that bad, of course, but before it moved from the unknown column into the known, my imagination had too many options. Here’s what I didn’t expect: “Now I’m going to use some electric stim on the area.” “Great,” I thought, “stab me and then electrocute me. Where’s your accompanying whip and black leather bustier? Should we agree on a safe word now?” It was fine though. When she told me there would be “a little pinch,” that was actually accurate. When she said the electric stimulation should be “comfortably tolerable,” I expected way worse than the sensation that followed. Half an hour later and with red marks all over my face from the…face pillow thing, I got up, got some ice packs, and made an appointment to come back the next day. She warned me that I’d probably be a little sore after that first time, which I was, but I’m hopeful that the combination of some acupuncture, some stretches, and some core-strengthening exercises (once I’m no longer in pain) will help heal me and prevent me from having this problem again. Oh, and the valium my doc prescribed for the nighttimes isn’t too shabby either.
So yeah, I’m getting old. But with two hemispheres’ worth of medicine on my side and two adorable reasons for the pain in the first place, I’m totally alright with that. (Just don’t expect me to get a tattoo of their names on my arm anytime soon.)