As the author knows, and I think, some who read this wonderful blog, I destroyed my knee playing softball when I was 35, and have to do yoga pretty damn often or everything goes out of alignment (one leg is now slightly shorter than the other and I slowly get crippled and blah, blah, blah), but the accident wasn’t the worst day. That was several days later. Here’s why: When it happened, Susan was in New York on an important business trip and I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want to mess up her trip and the damage was done and she couldn’t have done anything anyway. I figured she’d find out when she got back and I’d have more information from consulting surgeons and I thought I was being both noble and, I’ll just say it, heroic. Well, she didn’t see it that way. She was pissed. Hugely pissed that I had not told her. But I was going to have to have major reconstructive surgery so she couldn’t really yell at me because I was clearly a wreck. So she kept it in until the morning I was to go to the hospital for the surgery, and while she was taking out the trash all the repressed anger jumped on her back with both feet and sent her into spasms that left her on the floor in agony. When her brother, Peter rang the doorbell to drive us to the hospital I was upstairs on crutches with my leg in an immobilizer. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t answering the doorbell. I mean, she knew I was on crutches. So I hobble to the top of the stairs and call for her and I hear this weak, strangled, “I’m coming.” And then I see her crawling across the floor toward the door and struggling to reach up and open it. Peter looked at her on the floor and then me trying to work my way down the stairs and it was like the scene of the Confederate wounded and dying in “Gone With The Wind.” Which is a long way of saying, ya gotta be careful with repressed anger, ‘cause that can mess up your back, too.
GREAT description of the nefarious fickleness of the back being thrown out.
In my middle age, never mind, I got this thing called an "ortho-pod" ... this newfangled device where, after exercising, you would throw yourself onto it and hold on as you bent over and hung at an oblique angle while your back was tractioned for a minute or two. Then you rose to be ...better off! The third day I couldn't rise...at all. The traction" fractioned" me. I crawled to the phone and called the husband. I had to be on set in an hour. I couldn't even rise. Took a month to become a bit normal. So, yeah, the back is still a loaded gun. Always will be. Thanks for bringing it up.
Best preventative measure I can recommend is sit ups to strengthen abdominal muscles and provide more support for your back. That said, I need to put my thoughts into action
I've had back trouble since I fell down an elevator shaft in 1985. I'm not making that up. When the paramedics finally extricated me and took me to the hospital, they found my business card and called my office to alert them. The HR director then called my wife and told her I had been in a horrible accident and they were taking my body to the hospital. I'm not making that up either.
As an age-related back sufferer, I fully empathize with your agony. This is one more among the many roulette wheel of life outcomes: a crapshoot of heredity and opportunity to do yourself harm. In some ways, an earlier onset may give you more chances to mitigate the damage and rehabilitate your sacroiliac. I hope you, and all of us back-impaired sufferers find relief, or discover the joys of stamp collecting and other sedentary activities.
I loved the beachfront condo on the lake of fire during murder hornet season
As the author knows, and I think, some who read this wonderful blog, I destroyed my knee playing softball when I was 35, and have to do yoga pretty damn often or everything goes out of alignment (one leg is now slightly shorter than the other and I slowly get crippled and blah, blah, blah), but the accident wasn’t the worst day. That was several days later. Here’s why: When it happened, Susan was in New York on an important business trip and I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want to mess up her trip and the damage was done and she couldn’t have done anything anyway. I figured she’d find out when she got back and I’d have more information from consulting surgeons and I thought I was being both noble and, I’ll just say it, heroic. Well, she didn’t see it that way. She was pissed. Hugely pissed that I had not told her. But I was going to have to have major reconstructive surgery so she couldn’t really yell at me because I was clearly a wreck. So she kept it in until the morning I was to go to the hospital for the surgery, and while she was taking out the trash all the repressed anger jumped on her back with both feet and sent her into spasms that left her on the floor in agony. When her brother, Peter rang the doorbell to drive us to the hospital I was upstairs on crutches with my leg in an immobilizer. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t answering the doorbell. I mean, she knew I was on crutches. So I hobble to the top of the stairs and call for her and I hear this weak, strangled, “I’m coming.” And then I see her crawling across the floor toward the door and struggling to reach up and open it. Peter looked at her on the floor and then me trying to work my way down the stairs and it was like the scene of the Confederate wounded and dying in “Gone With The Wind.” Which is a long way of saying, ya gotta be careful with repressed anger, ‘cause that can mess up your back, too.
GREAT description of the nefarious fickleness of the back being thrown out.
In my middle age, never mind, I got this thing called an "ortho-pod" ... this newfangled device where, after exercising, you would throw yourself onto it and hold on as you bent over and hung at an oblique angle while your back was tractioned for a minute or two. Then you rose to be ...better off! The third day I couldn't rise...at all. The traction" fractioned" me. I crawled to the phone and called the husband. I had to be on set in an hour. I couldn't even rise. Took a month to become a bit normal. So, yeah, the back is still a loaded gun. Always will be. Thanks for bringing it up.
This is hilariously universal. I hate anyone and everyone who doesn't have or never has had back pain.
Best preventative measure I can recommend is sit ups to strengthen abdominal muscles and provide more support for your back. That said, I need to put my thoughts into action
I've had back trouble since I fell down an elevator shaft in 1985. I'm not making that up. When the paramedics finally extricated me and took me to the hospital, they found my business card and called my office to alert them. The HR director then called my wife and told her I had been in a horrible accident and they were taking my body to the hospital. I'm not making that up either.
As an age-related back sufferer, I fully empathize with your agony. This is one more among the many roulette wheel of life outcomes: a crapshoot of heredity and opportunity to do yourself harm. In some ways, an earlier onset may give you more chances to mitigate the damage and rehabilitate your sacroiliac. I hope you, and all of us back-impaired sufferers find relief, or discover the joys of stamp collecting and other sedentary activities.