ok, for those of you out there who are too lazy to study for seven years, or are just simply don't possess the IQ points to become a doctor, yet still want to SOUND like a specialist in something medical to gain respect from society, you'll be elated to discover that i have uncovered the perfect career choice for you - physiotherapy!
that's right. physiotherapy. doesn't that sound doctor-like and important? it does doesn't it? yet all you have to really do is rub a bit where the 'patient' tells you they're sore, and then you simply tell them to 'rest'. because you don't want to let them in on the fact that rest is the hardest drug you're allowed to prescribe...
so what do you do when you've injured your back and it's interfering with your training? and you still want to maintain your respect and credibility in the gym? and PHYSIO appears to be your only option?
i'll tell you exactly what you what to do because i am currently sitting in the bulls-eye of this very situation. literally. and if you're looking for a treatment that'll leave you breathing 'aaah', book yourself into a spa for a massage, because that's not what your going to find here. also if, like you Bryan, faint at the sight of a needle, stop reading right now and go take a muscle relaxant. this is NOT for you!
after i'd spent A SOLID WEEK having physio, i became more and more pissed off every time i walked out of there because by the time i sent foot in my front door - across the street - my back would seize up like a rabid pit-bull with lock-jaw.
and seeing as my life-line Voltaren was now giving me brain damage, i was hitting STRATOSPHERIC levels of frustration! i felt like i was stuck in a labyrinth, crippled, and being chased by one of the crazed inbreeds from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. desperate, that's what i was, desperate!
i was in town so i popped in to visit Derek and i must've looked like shit because, well, because he TOLD me i looked like shit. i mean i felt like i was walking around with my back in a VICE. horrible! of course Derek - the man who knows alot about EVERYTHING - made me call his acupuncture guy right there ON THE SPOT. i was too weak to protest. he was free in 15 minutes. he was two blocks up the road. by the next time i blinked i was sitting on a little white stool in front of a tiny little oriental man who stuck a needle in my head.
that's right you read correctly, he pulled out a needle and stuck it in my head. which caused the blood to drain from my brain and empty into my feet so the time i blinked after THAT i was lying face down on a massage bed watching beads of my own sweat running down my face and dripping down my nose onto the floor beneath me.
he then started screwing - that's right - he didn't jab them, he SCREWED the needles into me!
now pause here a sec. i am a girl who is all too familiar with needles and have injected myself in almost every muscle that is penetrable by a needle. thanks to the fine coaching by Vic Alley who REALLY knows his stuff in this department. so i knew exactly how deep those needles were going - i estimated about an inch - and it FREAKED ME OUT! because in all he must've driven about THIRTY NEEDLES into my flesh. and every time i flinched i could feel EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. it was a mindfuck.
i lay there, petrified, motionless, heart thudding against my rib-cage, and breathing breaths SO SHALLOW they wouldn't have moved a feather. for an hour. yes, ONE SOLID, INTERMINABLE HOUR. i felt like a child hiding in their cupboard with a deranged murderer stalking around outside.
i left there a shattered little soul, the spirit sucked right out of me, a body with a blank for contents.
i think i must've looked like one of those people you see on TV who've just had their house evaporated by a hurricane, wandering around in an open field, traumatised, stunned and in a state of shock.
i went home to have a shower and throw my sweat-drenched clothes in the washing machine. i was wearing Michael Stars i remember, because i recall now with horror as i stood in my kitchen staring at the blots of blood staining the fine tan fabric before me. it looked like the last outfit worn by the target of a firing squad.
it took me three days to recover from the shock. and five days to build up the balls to go back. because it worked. goddammit.
next time it'll be my fourth time. i've been reduced to a pin cushion i thought glumly. but no, why look at it like that? if i'm being forced into to doing something i might as well be the best! there have never been any grey-scales for me. except for the ones Derek has shaded into my skin. so i'm going to acupuncture the hell out of myself! until i'm 100%. or until i look like i've rolled through a cactus, whichever comes first! so this is me, Sandy Green, who'll now be addressed as the Pin Cushion Queen! anything you want to know about the experience of acupuncture? address your questions to the girl who's back looks like she's wearing an air-tex vest.
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