Actually, he’s my former chiropractor – he closed his human practice and started working on show horses (the pay’s better and the horses don’t talk back). He’s exceptionally talented (he’s the sole reason why I haven’t had to have knee surgery), and since he stopped seeing patients I’ve not been able to find another chiropractor that seems to know his (or her) ass from a hole in the ground.
This morning, I dragged my pain-killer hung-over self out of bed and went back to the doctor’s office to have him pop the wrist back in – only to have it pop (audibly) back out less than an hour later as I was making a left turn.
After probably traumatizing the pre-schoolers in the next car by screaming “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”, I called the chiropractor and started to beg.
He finally agreed to see me at 5 pm, so I had to run around all day (film festival deadline snuck up on me) with only one fully-functioning arm. Thank god the P.O.S. has an automatic transmission.
When I got to his house, he took one look at my wrist, rolled his eyes, sighed, and said “It’s not your wrist, it’s your elbow.”
Me: “But I heard the wrist pop.”
Chiropractor: “I’m sure you did – the wrist bone’s not in the right place, but the real problem is with the elbow. Shit rolls downhill, you know.”
Me (confused): “Okay.”
Anyways – it’s not totally back in yet (he says it’ll take a few days to move itself back, and it’s still sore, so I’m keeping this post short), but it feels about a thousand percent better. I’ve got an ice pack on it, and he told me to take Advil for the next few days to keep the inflammation down.
It hasn’t popped back out yet, although I was extra-careful on the drive home.