My Aching Back

About a month ago I realized a great dream of mine: to be old. I often say I am old because many of my interests correspond with those of the elderly. In particular, I love classical music, I heartily enjoy complicated card games like bridge and pinochle, I am not trendy, and I would often prefer to sit around and read than go out and be active. But I had always been missing one crucial factor – a body that doesn’t cooperate.

Granted, I was not particularly disappointed that my body worked well, other than my incessant sinus infections and allergies. But after saying I was old for so long, it was bound to catch up with me. And so it did.

There I was one day, minding my own business, sitting at the kitchen table, not even bragging about my affinity for hobbies of the elderly. Really, I was just sitting. Then I stood up.

“Gaaaaaaaarrr!!”

And I immediately sat back down. Then I tried to stand up again.

“Blaaaaaaaarrrrrgg!!!”

And I sat back down again. Then I tried to – just kidding.

I hunched like Igor over the table as I wondered what in the world had happened. I tried to sit straight in my chair but couldn’t get above a forty-five degree angle without feeling like a water buffalo was ripping my back off. So I stayed still.

My wife, who was looking on, couldn’t help but laugh at me. I couldn’t either. We laughed and laughed, “Well, you’ve gotten your wish. You really are an old person!” Indeed.

It was bizarre. I hadn’t twisted or jumped out of my seat; I just stood up. And what should happen but all the muscles in my lower back feel like springing up to the middle of my back and staying up there in a ball of painful spasms and tightness. The entire lower half of my back had transformed into a huge knot.

After five minutes I was beginning to worry. This was the sort of thing that happens and then is supposed to disappear quickly, so we could all keep on laughing.

“What if I can never walk again??” Sometimes I can be quite an alarmist.

“Oh you’ll be able to walk alright…with a cane!” My wife was really enjoying this. But not for long. After another ten minutes of waiting for the pain to subside with no results, I decided I should move to the couch to pamper my busted back. As I tried to stand up from the table, I knew I would never be the same. My back was a goner. Sharp pains kept me crumpled up; I had to lean on the wall and furniture to make sure no weight was on my lower back whatsoever. Any burden from my upper body sent me crashing to my knees in a traumatic stupor.

I managed to make it all the way to the couch and fell into it, sure I would never stand again. But unfortunately, I drink a lot of water and coffee, and, shocking though it may be, I have a bladder. Just when I was starting to get comfortable, my innards alerted me to the urgency of the situation.

“Crap,” though not literally. I was going to have to stand up again. This time, though, I was in my favorite slouching position on the couch – feet out, back reclined. I couldn’t even manage to push the footrest back into position because of the stress it put on my back. So my wife helped me do that and then had to drag me into my standing hunchback position. But it was a long way to the bathroom and there weren’t many pieces of furniture or wall corners to support me. Instead, I draped my bulky self all over my wife’s back to take the weight off my own. It was pretty pathetic.

Slowly but surely she dragged her burden all the way down the hall to the bathroom. Luckily, I was able to relieve myself without any assistance, but it was a close call. I heard muffled laughter through the door.

“Humbug!” I was no longer in the mood to laugh; I had just permanently lost my mobility.

That evening I had to cancel several work appointments I had lined up for the following day. But it was completely understandable; I have a tough job. Heavy lifting, dangerous machinery, volatile mafia-linked clients, long hours – you name it; I do none of those things. I tutor high school students. But still, sitting in a chair for a couple of hours can be hard work.

After a few days I started to feel a little better. I could resume my work, demanding though it was. My wife was no longer my personal walker, much to her chagrin. It took me about two weeks to get back to my usual self, but I finally came around. My back hasn’t been quite the same since, though. It gets tired quickly, and sore.

The experience changed me; I am a completely new person. Most importantly, I can now really claim that I am old. But I also stand up slower, and I try to avoid clients from the mafia. People who know things tell me that excess stress can cause back spasms, and the mob is definitely stressful. So as you can see, the pain was clearly worth it. How else would I have gleaned such vital lessons?

My advice to you is this: stand up slowly, avoid the mob, and eat your vegetables. But even in these ideal conditions, I would recommend everyone keep a good cane around, just in case.