Back pain is a major problem in this country. It is the second biggest reason that people do not go to work in the morning. The first reason is not having a job.
I have a longstanding relationship with my back, but ironically, most of my problems come from sitting too long. I read somewhere that while poised at the computer, I should put my butt at the outermost edge of the chair. I tried that, slid off and almost broke my jaw on the keyboard.
In the past, I have written about my health care providers, all of whom have tried desperately to counsel me on my sloppy posture. I have a genetic predisposition — sometimes I have pain in dis position, sometimes in dat position. I apologize for da play on words, but if something makes me laugh, it automatically goes in the column.
Recently a friend advised me about some “new age” therapies. I am somewhat “old age” and I am very skeptical of this kind of stuff. That’s why I have been going to a chiropractor and a massage therapist who use the traditional approach practiced by the Mafia for generations: They rough me up, inflict pain, then take my money. Time for a different approach.
Irwin, my new physical therapist, first instructed me to stand exactly like I normally do when I talk to someone. He said he preffered to observe his subjects in their natural setting. This sounded a lot like Jane Goodall justifying her first expense report. Suddenly, I became extremely self-conscious. I don’t know about you, but my body has a number of extremities that pretty much fall into place on their own when I’m chatting with someone. I don’t think about where to put my right leg, how to hold my head or how to position each arm during a discussion. I just start yacking away, although I do try not to put my foot in my mouth.
When I finally got myself into what I considered my normal posture, the therapist shook his head.
“You lean too far to the left,” he said, which is exactly what WIBC said to me in l995 when they fired me from my talk show. Then Irwin put me on the massage table and gingerly rotated my head and neck to assess my range of motion.
“I don’t think your spine has a good relationship with your legs,” he commented. He was probably right. I was quite sure that over the years there had been very little conversation between the two. I would have overheard it.
One suggestion he offered for improving my posture was to walk with my arms at my sides, with the palms of both hands facing to the front, opened wide and turned skyward. I tried this while I was strolling downtown later that day. It felt odd, except I did score some loose change from sympathetic pedestrians.
Finally, Irwin told me that it would do my back a world of good if I imagined there was a string running through my spine that went through my head to the ceiling and then when I walked, to also concentrate on putting pressure on my big toes.
My next appointment is with a neurologist. Not for my spine, but because I walked head first into a wall.
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