Well, I'm "back."
And with chiropractic news, so that pun was most definitely intended. On Tuesday, my back hurt so badly that at one point I threw up, and at another point I may have told my husband that I "just wanted to die." Yes, when it comes to pain, I am spineless. But now I have an excuse!
Abe tucked me in on the living room floor, and tried to keep me company while I writhed there in pain (Someone please give the man a medal. He was trying so hard to be nearby and comforting, but I was Highly Unreasonable and kept changing positions as I rolled around on the floor in an effort to alleviate the pain. Every time I moved, he was in the way, so I think he was relieved to have an excuse to leave when I needed something to puke in. That, friends, is Love). At 3:00, Abe's chiropractor's office opened, so Abe picked out some clothes (that is Really Love) and took me over. There, I was dressed in a gown, felt up the back, and body slammed by the good doctor. (Do I get extra pity points if I mention he outweighed me by probably 100 lbs?) The doctor found a sprain in my back, which was causing the pain, and discovered from my x-rays that my back is broke.*
(Abe called me Evil Knievel, and then called all his siblings to brag about how tough his woman is: backpacking and kayaking with a broken spine! I can't exactly take this credit, because I had no idea. Also, it's been broken for a long enough time to make my pelvis grow lopsided to compensate. Someday, when I'm feeling especially meek, I may even tell you the embarrassing story of how my back break might have happened. Maybe tomorrow.)
*This is now a good excuse for all sorts of things. "No, you client who can't stop complaining or getting on my nerves, I cannot go on a walk with you, because my back is broken." "Abe, can you please wash the dishes/get me an ice pack/make the bed? It's just that my back is broken." "Your power over me is broken, exercise DVD collecting dust in the corner! I can have nothing to do with you, what with my back being broken."