Hey there, I’m the chiropractor you found heavily discounted on Groupon. I know you came in to align your ankles, but I feel way more of a thrill when dealing with the human neck. May I?
Okay, so I’m noticing you tensed up a bit after I violently rotated your neck 180 degrees to the left. I know hearing and feeling all of your cervical vertebrae crack at once can be a little disconcerting, but I just want to assure you that to us in the alignment industry, those were all “good” cracks.
It’s totally normal to be nervous. If you’re not in the experimental twisting field, hearing snapping noises emanating from your neck can be startling. But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. “Snaps” are just what we in the recreational spine business like to call “bone screams.”
You just need to remember that this is good for you. Letting me jostle your bones around until something shifts is good for you. It’s just a bonus that I happen to enjoy the sound and feel of manually manipulating your skeletal system.
Trust me—you’re in good hands. Those of us in the see-how-far-a-skeleton-can-bend profession take our work very seriously. We know our way around a neck.
Listen, if I’m being honest, I’m more used to working with horse necks. You’re actually my first human patient. Well, my first living one. Don’t worry, the other one was dead when I got there.
I know this might come as a surprise given the many real-looking, medicine-related college certificates I have hanging on my wall, but “horses” is actually what I got my degree in. Horse history, to be more specific.
But look at me now. Not even two weeks ago, I was solely popping horse spines, and now here I am, trial-and-erroring the amount of force I need to use on a human neck.
Wow, you’re pale. Is it because your whole right side went briefly numb after the crack? I’m told that happens from time to time; it’s usually nothing.
How about I start adjusting your ankles to help take your mind off whatever’s going on with your neck?
Go ahead and sit up for me. Before you ask, yes, spines are supposed to make audible creaking noises for hours—or even years—after being aligned. If you want, you can schedule your creak management appointment at the front desk on your way out.
Look, I’m sorry you’re feeling anxious, and I’m not trying to be unsympathetic or anything, but my horse patients used to react to getting their necks aligned by looking at me with their big, brown eyes and stomping their hooves in a way that I can only assume meant both “thank you” and “I see you—like, really see you.” Maybe you could give that a shot instead of the whole crying thing?
All right, let’s get started on those ankles… Good god. Where the hell are your hooves? Only kidding. Humans have feet—I know that. But between you and me, I would feel way more at home if you had, like, a mane and tail and responded super well to sugar cubes. Sugar cube?
Okay, full transparency: Feet freak me out. Hooves I’m more comfortable with. Mind if I start a little higher up to test the waters? Oh, wow, your knee has some give to it, huh? Did you know horses have knees too? Yeah, that’s how they sleep standing up. They lock them. Do you mind if I grab my supervisor right quick? Something new just happened.
Okay, I’m back. My supervisor is finishing up with another patient, then she’ll be right in to sort you out. You’ll love her; she exclusively works on humans.
Still a no on that sugar cube? Okay, fine, but you should know that horses find them to be a real treat. Also, oats. Bend your knee for me? Oh, yeah, that’s not right at all. I fucked that up. Horse knees respond way differently to that.
I have to say, I feel like a sugar cube would help right now. No, sorry, I don’t believe in Advil.
While we wait for my supervisor, what if I pushed down hard on your shoulder and see if that does anything?
Sometimes, when the horses were agitated, I’d just brush them down, and it’d put them right at ease. Would you be at all interested in that? On the house, of course. At the very least, it could take your mind off the fact that your neck is, seemingly, stuck like that.
Oh, my supervisor just texted me. Okay, so, apparently, she glimpsed you through the door window and saw all she needed to see. The bad news is you’ll likely have lingering neck pain for the rest of your life, plus you have a classic case of “squish knee,” which, while relatively common in this field, still has no known cure. The good news is your ankles are the same as when you came in, because I didn’t touch them.
All in all, not a bad first day for someone with a horse history degree from a since-disaccredited university and absolutely no working knowledge of the human body.
Look, I get that you’re upset, and I’m sorry about your neck and your chronic smush knee, but you’re the one who paid for this with a Groupon. Did you really expect to receive “legitimate” medical care for “humans”?
Wait, I just remembered that we stopped taking Groupon. This appointment will cost you an insane amount of money. Funnily enough, if you were a horse, it would be free. Horses have no need for money—they deal only in promises. That, plus sugar cubes. One for the road?
