A Wildman

I've seen two different physios and now a chiropractor today, the diversity of opinion and technique down to it being the holiday season. Or perhaps they've all seen me the once and then written me off as such a disaster that they each decided to quickly palm me on to someone else by pretending they're going away. Could I blame them?

I was told this morning that I might feel worse for the treatment before I get better. He wasn't wrong there. I managed a very slow walk down the hill for my appointment and then an even slower walk back up again. But as soon as I got home I seized up totally. I could barely move. The portrait of Lousie I took in town was the only shot I ended up taking. Even if it hadn't rained and blown a gale for the rest of the day - washing the cricket out for yet another weekend - I still wouldn't have made it out of the house again. Not that Louise didn't deserve her moment in colour. Her wonderful energy made sense when I understood her artistic lineage here in Ilkley. 

I think I've only once been in as much pain as I've been in today. The muscles around my core are not at all happy. It's like having an alien creature inside me. It doesn't like any kind of movement of the back. A slight bend or twist and it wakes up and bites. I try to walk and it starts writhing around, taking different muscles into its teeth and pulling them tighter and tighter. It won't let go until I somehow get horizontal. Getting up again is almost impossible without making the little fucker angry once more. I've never known anything like it. 

My return to blip wasn't meant to be like this. I was in a mood to be positive and to try to post punctually (this written up, of necessity, a day after the event). I guess it's revealing that I can see my way to talk publicly about these totally incapacitating physical issues, where it's so very much harder to do the same with the less tangible ones of the mind.