For someone who’s written five Balanced Life columns this year extolling the benefits of embracing new things, overcoming fears, and attacking life with a “What’s the worst that could happen?” attitude, I was seriously apprehensive.
I knew I couldn’t take this guy in an arm wrestle or outright brawl. He had at least 30 pounds on me. (I know, I know. But when the fight-or-flight adrenaline kicks in, my ancient mammalian brain reacts instantaneously in pounds, inches and gallons, not kilograms and other metric contrivances.) He was 30 years younger, and his upper arms were the size of my thighs. I did notice he was wearing a knee brace, though, so in an emergency I could wriggle out of his grasp, kick him in the knee, and try to outrun him.
Wit and wile would be my first strategy. I smiled, he smiled, but I knew he’d played this game before. I obediently followed him down a never-ending corridor, past endless cream-coloured doorways, some open and inviting, others firmly closed to hide their secrets. My apprehension soared as I was ushered into cubicle number 13, hoping beyond hope that his room choice was by coincidence rather than devious intention.
Without a word he picked up a strategically placed spray bottle and cloth. As I stood and watched he began cleaning what appeared to be a vinyl-covered massage table.
In an effort to establish my history and current status before it was too late, I firmly stated in a formal tone, “This is my first time in a position like this. My health has always been good. Up until this moment I’ve been pretty-much invincible.”
He looked up from his cleaning, broke the slightest wry smile, then casually knocked two knuckles on the wall. How was I to interpret this knock-on-wood gesture; as a clever non-verbal quip recognizing my good luck in the past, or an ominous signal to not count my chickens before they hatched on this fateful day? We would soon see.
While standing as I normally would, I was politely requested to face north, south, east and west while he examined my posture. I expected a group of judges to pop out from behind a curtain and flash score cards.
Next, I was asked to sit on the table. He approached from behind. In my peripheral vision I could see his thumbs and fingertips, shaped much like eagle’s talons poised to mercilessly rip an unsuspecting salmon or trout from its languid swim, headed toward my shoulders.
It was crunch time in room 13.
In February I’d crashed while downhill skiing at Big White in B.C.. My nephew, a ski racer as a kid and now a doctor, was skiing behind me and rated the fall an 8.2 out of 10. The effects of my concussion had passed within a few days. Yet despite my best self-diagnosis and haphazard internet research on how to rehabilitate my shoulder, range-of-motion remained poor, and varying levels of pain would not go away.
Up until this moment I’ve been pretty-much invincible
I needed professional help, but had no clue where to turn. Perhaps a detailed book, rather than random internet articles would offer direction. Fortunately our wonderful local library had James Davies recently published “Body – Simple Techniques and Strategies to Heal, Reset and Restore,” on the shelf. Davies’ book proved to be thorough and understandable, offering detailed specifics with illustrations of every joint, muscle and tendon in the human body. Diagnoses and treatments were explained, ethics, myths and misconceptions were discussed.
The British National Health System’s classifications of practitioners including osteopaths, chiropractors, physiotherapists, massage therapists and podiatrists were defined as well.
A plan hatched. I’d choose a path (sorry, couldn’t resist) with the hope that engaging in a brief examination and discussion would suggest next steps. A local clinic could offer an appointment with a physiotherapist in two weeks or an osteopath the next day.
Davies’ book shed the following insight. “Osteopaths believe in treating the body as a whole and therefore the skeleton, muscles, ligaments, and connective tissue must work well together…they treat the body through massage, mobilization and manipulation. [Whereas] physiotherapy takes a ‘whole-person’ approach and aims to restore function and movement to the body through exercises, massaging of tissues, and mobilization and manipulation of the joints.”
Mobilization and manipulation would be involved regardless, so for Step One either discipline of physical therapy seemed acceptable. I chose the shortest wait time.
As the eagle’s talons grazed my shoulders, Ellen Foley’s intense repudiation of Meatloaf in Paradise by the Dashboard Light sprang spontaneously from my lips; “Stop right there! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further!” I needed definitive agreement on this osteopath’s personal interpretation of mobilization and manipulation before he proceeded. “What’s it gonna be boy?”
He confirmed there would be no “cracking” or “HVT” (high-velocity thrusts used in spinal mobilizations), so we began. Each muscle in my shoulder, upper back and neck was identified to me, and its function explained as he examined them by pushing, pulling, deep massaging and mobilizing.
Within a moment or two I had a diagnosis; my chest muscles were too tight, my back muscles over-stretched, and my shoulders were curved forward. The condition was pulling my nerves out of position and causing them to scrape and strain on bone, creating pain and reducing mobility during certain shoulder and arm motions.
More intense massaging and muscle manipulation followed, and we gradually came to terms on the definition of “relax your muscles.” Apparently him pushing my appendages right and me resisting with all my strength to the left doesn’t qualify as being relaxed.
He explained proper posture and demonstrated basic exercise techniques to balance chest and back muscles. “Pretend you’ve got a chestnut between your shoulder blades and try to crack it by pulling them together.”
It’s a few days in now, and his manipulations and suggestions seem to be working, although I do feel like I’m imitating the Fonz’s strut while walking down the street, shoulders pulled back and chest puffed out, crushing that chestnut.
The takeaways have been positive. On that afternoon’s bicycle ride, I rotated my neck to check behind for approaching traffic more easily than I had in years. Shoulder range-of-motion without pain has improved, and best of all, there are a thousand YouTube home-exercise videos dedicated to loosening tight chest muscles I can use for self-rehabbing.
All good for an old dog that almost waited too long for professional help to learn a new trick.
