Misaligned Priorities

A chiropractor walks into a bar – the Lum Bar, ha! – would be a great opening to a joke. I’ll have to remember that one for future patients.

I once thought that listening to a patient would make treating them easier. If I understood the source of their stress – and they could explain it to an unbiased listener – then relieving it would go smoother for the both of us. A relaxed back is a happy back. 

And then I met Stan.

Here’s some… ahem. Backstory:

It was a grey day, blustery and cold. I had to catch the bus to work since my usually-reliable car had found its way into the shop. Normally, I would have walked, but with the poor weather and my sore ankle, I had to cram myself in amongst the unwashed masses. I still smelled of bus seat cushions, and there was chewed gum stuck to the bottom of my favorite leather loafer – the left one. It stuck annoyingly to the cheap carpeting with each step.

Stan came in shortly after me complaining of back pain, as most patients that I see are wont to do. It was warm in the office to offset the misery of the outdoors, and the open door blew in the wind’s rebellion. My secretary Linda – a fitting name, as she also represented Human Resources. It’s a rare thing indeed to meet a Linda outside one of these roles, and I was lucky enough to have one that did both – glanced up from her papers, schooling her obvious disappointment into a more welcoming grin. (She had been fighting with her husband again, something about his refusal to allow her to buy groceries and his simultaneous lack of concern with spending money on Fantasy Football.)

A new patient was a welcome distraction for us both.

“Welcome back, Stan,” I called from behind the desk, chuckling a little. Linda discreetly rolled her eyes.

“I’ve never been here before,” he deadpanned. 

Ah well, can’t win ‘em all. “That’s fine,” I said. “Why don’t you come on back to our consultation room here and we can go ahead and get started.” The joke felt a little more forced this time – surely it wouldn’t escape his notice.

Nothing. He signed the appropriate papers, Linda asked the important insurance questions, and we moved through a hallway that smelled of ethanol or some other astringent. It smelled sterile, hopefully masking my cologne: eau de bus cushions. I led him into the back room (actually in the backside of the office), and waited while he settled himself into the usual chair. He fidgeted and groaned until he found a comfortable position, with his face pressed into the cushions.

I usually like to ease into the appointment by letting a patient know I have a funny bone, really crack them up before I crack them up. An attitude adjustment with their spinal adjustment! I’m a giver. “Before we get started, Stan, I just have to warn you: you may leave here a crack addict.”

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement this time, but the man didn’t even crack a smile. I frowned. I never really have to work this hard to try and get a patient to relax before I begin. Once they feel at ease, I could ask them to breathe in, breathe out, crack –

And the release is always the best part. Patients make the funniest noises, sometimes from their backends – always makes me laugh. Patient mortification is a real treat. But it’s not all fun and games: the trick to being a good chiropractor is to go slow and be thorough. The back is a record of someone’s life, and each knot is like a story waiting to be told. 

Start with the cervical vertebrae. The neck is a storage bin for stress, and patients tend to dump it all in there, really overfilling until they can’t get the top on. The neck’s the exposition to any story. Necks-position?

Stan’s silence was unnerving at this point. I prefer an environment where patients feel comfortable enough to share things. Like I said before, sharing stress can help align our interests. I know most patients are used to bottling their stress – it’s what they pay me to release – and need a little help loosening up. Despite his reticence, I began to massage Stan’s neck deeply, fingers searching for the tightest knots.

“I once had a patient who would come in every week just before he had to have dinner with his mother-in-law. He was wound up as tight as they come. Some of the stories he’d share!” I may have been laying it on a little thick here. “My favorite was just last week. He was uninvited from dinner, since his in-law was terrified he would get her sick, but his wife still had to go. And even with all that the woman still went to Walmart! Walked up and down all the aisles because she couldn’t possibly go without her ice-cream cones. You would think being let off the hook would relax him, but for some reason this just made it all worse.” 

This story got a small chuckle out of him, and he rolled his neck as it began to loosen. I had him turn it as far as he could to the right side – it wasn’t far – and then cracked it. The noise caught him by surprise and he gave a small, startled cry. He coughed to try and cover it up. Then I had him do the same thing to the left side. This time he was ready, and he sighed deeply in relief.

“We had this other old man come in pretty frequently,” I began anew. “He was always carrying around some almonds, and he liked to give them to Linda, my receptionist. She took them for a while, but then she started to feel bad. She thought he needed them more than she did. He smiled all sweet at her, his mouth full of crooked, aged teeth, and told her matter-of-factly that he only liked the chocolate part.” 

This time, Stan gave a full belly laugh.

Then, all of a sudden: “Doc, I think my wife’s cheating on me.” The words spilled from Stan’s mouth as abruptly as the small cry he had given earlier.

“What makes you think so? Breathe in real deep now… okay, release.” Crack – he rolled his shoulders back and shook out his whole body. He seemed to relax further with the admission – see? I was onto something.

“I found socks last week. They weren’t mine. I’ve been working late, the boss is really riding us to meet these deadlines, and he’s threatening layoffs. Stacy…”

Stan and Stacy, yikes. I was actually sleeping with a Stacy, too, funny enough. I felt like this was a moment where we could really connect over our aligned interests, but I didn’t want to interrupt him.

“…really wants to have a baby, and I want to give her one, but we can’t afford it if I lose my job. She thinks I’m avoiding her and working late so we don’t have to talk about it, but I’m not. And now these socks!” Stan’s back was beginning to get sweaty with his excitement.

Next, we move to the thoracic vertebrae. You have to move gradually, take your time. The patient needs to feel heard – they’re certainly paying enough for it. Chiropractors and therapists go hand-in-hand. Both are doctors of a sort. Can you feel it? This is the rising tension. Welcome to Thoracic Park. 

I triangle my hands along his spine – “Okay Stan, deep breath for me here. Breathe in, then out…” – and push down. That one was satisfying. 

“Did you ask her about them?” I didn’t want to sound patronizing, but he was starting to slow and I didn’t want him to lose momentum.

Stan’s arms waved emphatically at his sides.

 “Of course! She pretended not to know what I was talking about! But it gets worse, Doc. I came home early on Monday, for the first time in weeks. A little red Corolla was pulling away from the curb, all in a hurry. I went in and asked her who it was, and she pretended to have no idea who I was talking about! She mumbled something about the neighbor. The closest neighbor lives almost a mile down the road!” He let out another grunt of relief as I twisted his spine towards the right side with another crack.

Corollas are a great little car, for the record, and efficient. I had one myself. At least the villain of this story has good taste.

The lumbar is the big game (and serves a mean Whiskey Sour, HA!). This is the climax of the plot – everything else is just gradual build-up. Exercise, heavy lifting (including one’s own weight), improper footwear… they all contribute to lower back pain, even just good old aging. When patients come in complaining of back pain, and their hands usually brush across the skin right above their ass, that large expanse of flesh – this is the beauty of the lumbar.

“The car was there again when I got home last night. This time no one was in it, so they must have been in my house, Doc. Can you imagine? I saw red, and not just the color of their stupid little car. I couldn’t help it, I hit the gas! It was only a little fender bender really, but that girly Corolla was no match for the power of my F150. Good ol’ Hank the Tank didn’t even have a scratch. I can’t say the same for that bastard’s car.”

He paused to catch his breath, and my kneading slowed. “Well, you better believe I’m frothing at the mouth at this point. So I slam my door, and go stomping up my front stairs. I slam the front door too, since I want him to know I’m home,” he was breathing heavily now, and I could feel tension building back up in his shoulders.

I stopped aligning his spine at this point, my heart beating just a little bit faster. His tension seemed to mirror my own. It couldn’t be… 

“We’ve got a closet right under our front staircase, where I keep my hunting gear. So I cock the rifle and start pounding up the stairs, burst into MY bedroom, ready to shoot the guy. Stacy’s in the bed, sheets pulled up around her, as if that’ll hide anything. And the bastard’s gone out the window! The window, Doc! Our bedroom is on the second floor, but that didn’t stop him.” 

My sore ankle twitched almost on command. 

“He got right into that beat-up Corolla and just drove off. I almost shot after him, but that’s illegal…” he slowed now, at the end of his story. I could hear the guilt in his words, but he knew his actions were justified.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, glad he couldn’t see me with his face pressed into the chair.“Wow, Stan. That’s crazy! I’d want to shoot him too…” 

Finally, we’ve come to the sacrum. It felt wrong to touch his ass at this point, but like I said, I’m thorough. Onward and upward through the sacrum door we head to the conclusion of Stan’s story:

“That fender bender messed me up a little more than I thought, though. We can’t really afford a chiropractor at this point, but I figured if my wife could go and get herself ‘adjusted,’ then so could I. You like what I did there, Doc?” He turned his neck (with much more range of motion, if I do say so myself) and peeked up at me, offering a small smile.

“Yes, very funny, Stan.” I normally would have killed for a patient to crack jokes with! Just my luck that I apparently slept with this poor bastard’s wife. I couldn’t even enjoy his back pun.

“Breathe in real deep for me. I’m going to massage out some of the inflammation here in your right lower paraspinal. That’s going to create a nice suction effect and force some nutrients and fluids into the disc. We’ll decompress, create a little drop here at the sacrum, open up that lower disc…” I was just rambling on at this point, very clinical, letting him know everything I was doing probably in excess. Patients don’t usually care about this part, but it certainly helped calm me down to focus on the work, instead of the story.

“Thanks, Doc. I really needed this,” Stan sighed, releasing any of the tension he had left. He lifted his head up and smiled at me again, this time in earnest. “You’re a good man. I thought your kind were a bit of a rip off, but man, was I wrong.” 

When we were done, we walked back out around the front together, he paid, and then he left. I let the wind howl at me from the door, whipping my hair back and shuffling the papers that Stan had signed earlier. I also asked Linda to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day.

My ankle was throbbing, and my lungs felt like they were sitting in my gut. Stacy had told me that night she was married, but she talked about her husband the way that someone might mention the weather. He was harder to ignore when he came thundering up the stairs, but he was still somewhat inconsequential. Meeting the man in person, though, was a different matter altogether. Now he was real, and I was the cause of his pain.

I had once thought that listening to a patient would make healing them easier, but I guess I stand corrected.

---

Written for first round of NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2021. Fifth place.