Why I hate doctors
I know the whole thing sounds disgusting, but your back will be middle-aged someday, too. And there's a good chance some moron doctor is going to refer you to a surgeon. This blog will be short. Read on.
This problem with my back has been going on for years. I only take it seriously once or twice a year when a flare up can leave me crying at home. A year ago, when an MRI showed two bulging disks, physical therapy was perscribed--as if being out of the office three times a week was an option! And, when there's no way to make it happen, you wait, and the pain goes away...mostly...for a while.
Gravity, a growing child, and a big, clumsy dog are not kind to degenerating disks, and the last few weeks are proof of it. Till recently, my sole survival tactic has been weekend visits to my HMO's urgent care clinic for a couple shots of pain relief and anti-inflammatories. This time around my usual survival tactic just isn't good enough. And I can't stand the pain in my back, hips, legs, buttocks. It keeps me awake all night, and I get really...cranky...yeah, let's call it "cranky."
This time around the MRI shows three bulging disks with nerve compression. My doctor (actually, my doctor's husband, who practices with her) said I have three choices: an orthopedic surgeon, a neurosurgeon, or the pain management clinic.
And all the sudden, I'm thinking physical therapy sounds do-able.
First visit was yesterday, and I'm a new woman. OK, so not new exactly, but I can move. The pain is localized in my back and almost completely gone from my other pieces. I slept last night. I'm smiling. I'm wearing heels.
The magic cure? Bend backwards from the waist 74 times a day. Do a couple dozen pushups a day using only my arms and leaving my lower body on the floor. I swear that's it. The physical therapist says come back once a week for four to six weeks. That's it.
Turns out, I don't even need a referral from the doctor to see the physical therapist. I just have to be smart enough to go.