It was the kind of pain that turns your stomach, that beads your brow with sweat. I'd jumped out of bed without realizing anything was wrong; now I was hobbling around the living room saying, "Oh shit" over and over. "Oh shit, this sucks, I don't think I can make it to work today. Oh shit." I called my chiropractor but his office was closed till Wednesday. "Oh shit, fuck!"
I'd been experiencing some lower back pain since Saturday, after I'd cut up some downed trees in the back yard and hauled the wood up to be split. The pain was low level and I'd hoped it would simply work itself out. Then Sunday my buddy brought his splitter over. He ran the machine while I fed it. I could tell it wasn't the best for my back, but it didn't feel like I was doing any more damage, nor was I in any more pain after than before. I even went to work that evening.
Monday morning was when I got slammed. I recognized this pain. I'd had it before, after cutting wood once years ago; duh. I forced myself to eat a little dry toast, swallowed massive amounts of ibuprofen, did stretches and hobbled around for about half an hour. "Oh shit, oh shit." I started to feel better and headed for Indianapolis thinking maybe my boss would know of a chiropractor close by so that I could get cracked and then keep cracking. I can't afford to lose work.
By the time that I got there the pain was manageable and I figured I'd wait till Friday to seek help, my day off. It was a busy day. I was climbing in and out of the tractor continually, dropping trailers, hooking to trailers. Lo and behold come evening time I was feeling good; not just better, really fucking good, like that ambrosial peace that descends on one after an intense migraine has departed.
"The morning will be the test," I figured, "after a night of inactivity." When morning came I was still good. I'm healed, thank the Goddess!
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