Back on the treadmill

WITH age comes illness so it's coming as no surprise to me - now I have to get my hand in my pocket and pay for medical attention - that things are not seeming quite right.

It's probably just the timing of it all but since I've taken a change in job, I've started twingeing in all the wrong places. I know I'm a bit of a hypochondriac at times but for the past month or two, I've been putting up with these aches and pains on the understanding they'll diminish once all the newfound muscles I now find myself using have got to grips with the strain I'm putting them under.

An initial consultation with the chiropractor last week brought to light that I have a fallen arch in my left foot and after a bit of poking and prodding around, she referred me to trot off for some X-rays so she knew what she was working with in time for the next appointment.

From this I have just returned, after a quick Chai Latte catch up on the coast with a friend and her mum, with whom I relayed the story. The doctor taking the pictures was a lovely guy. A true easygoing fun to be around Aussie who led me into his department of camera equipment and showed me to a changing room that would make Mr Benn's look like a palatial mansion. In this tiny but bijou room, I had to wrestle off my boots and 15 other items of clothing and jewellery while competing for space with a chair and a box of disposable gowns.

I was told to leave just one item of my clothing on and we all know what that is... but after closer inspection of the gown with its severe lack of rear fastenings, I was a tad horrified and wished I'd opted for a bigger set of underwear for this appointment.
It's not easy having to stand pretty much spreadeagled against a white screen with your nose pointed north, both hands on your head and your dignity left outside the door.
While I was being contorted into all sorts of positions to get the best shot of my spine, all I could think of was how much (or how little) this guy was getting an eyeful of behind (literally).

He probably wasn't even looking at all, it was just my overactive imagination I guess, but trying to have a dignified conversation with someone you just met and wearing nothing but a piece of Jaycloth had me in cringetastic mood.

But what a nice guy he was. After I'd climbed back into my gear, he had developed the negatives and was taking a quick peek at them before slotting them in an envelope for me to take away for chiropractic inspection.
At one point during the photography, he asked me to open my mouth as wide as I could and he clicked away. I thought he was winding me up initially but when I saw the picture of that shot, all became clear.
Through an open moosh, an X-ray can pick out the tiny bone that holds your head onto your spine. Doc was telling me of countless stories of people who have damaged this bone unbeknowns to them, either as a result of diving or car accidents, and years later go along for routine chiro sessions, only to be leaving the couch as a quadriplegic patient.

A simple check of the intact state of this bone then allows chiro to work wonders and crack bones where they see fit to send their patients on the road to recovery, not a wheelchair.

I'm not ready to be heading for the scrapheap just yet, I just want to make sure I'm in tip top condition to be filling skips in the months that follow while renovations at our first Aussie property get underway.

And I thought my days on the barrow were over...