Chiro-Nonsense: Thoughts on Crazy Chiropractic: A Horror Story

Chiropractors get a bad rep, don't they? A while back my back was hurting (ha, did you catch that? Back, back? I'm so d@mn clever!). Leftover from childbirth, pregnancy, months of carrying Little Miss Rowdy. So I asked my primary for a referral, which he provided without any opinion on which of the zillion or so chiropractors in the area I should see.

Which left me with the, oh, three or so options my insurance company provided. First on the list: a husband and wife team in a nice building adjacent to a golf course. Perfect!

So I went.

And that's when things got ... weird.

First off, the office was eerie. Waiting room clean to the point of perfection, no stray reading material or chewed up toys, no lint or little bits of stuff people track in on their shoes. But I like clean. Clean is good, right?

Then there was the sign above the expansive doorway which led to the exam rooms: "We Respect the Design as Well as the Designer." Ugh, was I going to get adjusted or saved? Not that I have any real issue with business people carrying their faith into the office. One of the doctors in our family practice of our GP drops little quips about "design" and the "designer." He's a better doctor for it, I think. But to use big fake brass letters to literally spell it out above the door?

Moving on to the adjustment. I expected a little awkwardness for the X-rays. Hard to get a good X-ray with bra clasps and zippers and whatever else, but the adjustments likewise required a medical gown. Because ... (here's the best part) ... the guy used a thermometer to judge which vertebrae needed adjustment. The theory was that minuscule changes in temperature told him where there was inflammation, so when the thermometer registered a temp increase he'd MARK MY BACK WITH A PEN. Then he brought in an elephant and had it stomp on me. More or less. None of the gentle feeling around for the right spot, just a gigantic CRUNCH on the little blue X (or red, whatever, I never saw the pen).

What's worse, despite the creepy feeling and increase in pain after each visit, I went back three times. I don't trust my creep-o-meter like I should, likely because I worry it's overactive. But in this case, I should have run like the wind after the first visit. I'm hesitant to write it, because the whole experience was just so Strange, but I wonder now if the chiropractor just liked messing with the ties on the gown.

That's not me. Just saying.

That's not me. Just saying.

One more thing: I could see the computer screen as the secretary was scheduling me for my fourth appointment (which I canceled). She flipped through a full week of appointment pages. Page after page, virtually empty. Explained the clean waiting room.