Wednesday the 11th of May 2011.
It was the one of the three days a week in which I made my faithful journey to visit my Chiropractor. After the previous night’s experience at the gates of Hell, next came the humiliation. I hobbled to my car and slumped into the driver’s seat. The humiliation came twenty minutes later in the car park which was about five minutes’ walk from his practice.
I couldn’t get out of the car.
I had just managed to get in and never gave it a thought about how I would get out at the other end. I made attempt after attempt to swing my legs around and bend my neck down at the same time to get out through the door, but the pain was so excruciating, I failed every time.
I got to the stage where I was asking complete strangers if they wouldn’t mind coming over to “help me with something in my car.” The only problem was that the only people coming into the car park at that time were single women of different ages. I got some funny looks and it dawned on me I must have looked like some pervert on the prowl. I thought any minute now the police would be called and I would end up in the cells.
I had no choice; I lowered my head and threw myself out of the car, and ended up face down on the gravel writhing in agony like a worm in the dirt. I pulled myself up and started what should have been a gentle and enjoyable walk to the Chiropractors.
I arrived late but the receptionist looked very concerned when helping me in as I panted and sweated my way through the front door. I was ushered straight in to my Chiropractor and was soon lying face down on his bench as he manipulated my spine.
As I lay defenceless to his healing hands it suddenly sprung into my mind in a flash of inspiration that he (The Chiropractor) would make a great character in any future books. He could either be a good character who healed or he could be the bad guy who used his hands to torture people.
As I left his office I hadn’t made up my mind which way it would swing, but the walk back to my car became a hell twice as bad as the walk in. Every time my right foot touched the ground it felt as if I was in bare feet and had just walked onto some broken spiked glass. After five minutes an old lady stopped me and asked if I was ok as I tried to hold back the tears of pain. After twenty minutes an old man with a Zimmer frame stopped me and asked if I need any help.
What should have been a five minute walk took me half an hour, and as I slumped into the driver’s seat of my car in a semi-delirious state I still couldn’t decide if the chiropractor was a saviour or a torturer.