Your body may be a temple, but mine feels more like This Old House. For six weeks I have limped through nineteen appointments with my physiatrist, chiropractor, masseuse and physical therapist. I feel like an aging sports star with a doubtful one-year contract.

My therapy team is working together on my lower lumbar stabilization. In plain speech, they’re trying to ease my aching back. And despite all of their tender ministrations, I’m still walking like a toddler wearing a fully loaded diaper.

Back to Basics

Deepak Chopra recently posted a very comprehensive article about “The Meaning Behind Back Pain.” In it he reviewed all of the major causes and cures and gave insights galore about the mindfulness that is needed to protect our bodies. His advice was good, but sadly most of us don’t pay attention until our bodies scream.

Boomer Bodies As Heavy Equipment

It all started when I tried to pull a boat. Before you ask, it wasn’t my idea. I was reacting to the panicked voice of my nearest and dearest, The Brit, who gestured wildly from the helm of our sailboat. My sister and I, who were standing dockside with lines in hand, heard him shout to pull it forward fifty feet to the fuel pump.

We are “big boned” girls who were once high school Field Day tug-of-war anchors back in the day. It didn’t occur to us at the time to decline or shirk our assignment to pull 50,000 pounds of boat against flooding tide and current.

We were raised to “act first, think later,” especially when an urgent male voice strummed anxiety neurons deep in our mammalian brains.  If we had thought about it for even an instant, cooler heads would have prevailed.

We heaved ho for a good few minutes, before we charged the helm declaring a mutiny.

“Turn the #@*$%! engine on to move this thing or I’ll do it myself,” I huffed.

And so he did, but it was too late for my beleaguered back.

Scanning My Options

My chiropractor, a healing goddess, assessed my situation and for the first time ever, suggested that I escalate my medical care to the next level. Several rib heads were pulled and simply breathing was painful, my sciatic nerve was flaming down to my big toe, and I shuffled like an elder.

She recommended that I see a physiatrist, who is a kind of orthopedist without a scalpel, not a psychiatrist of the physique. These folks are more interested in rehabilitating than cutting, so I gamely put myself forward for treatment.

Step one is, of course, the MRI scan. I’ve heard lots of complaints about this procedure: about how loud it is, how long it can take, and how uncomfortable it is to lie perfectly still in a body sized tube while a huge wheel makes strange banging noises all around. But I found it a delightful excuse to just lie down.

The radiologist wired me up with headphones and Sweet Baby James Taylor for a lullaby like vibe. She tucked a wedge under my legs to ease lower back spasms, covered me with a blankie and I almost fell asleep in my peaceful tunnel. I didn’t want to leave.

A few days later I sat in the physiatrist’s office and listened to his earnest advice about my damaged disk at vertebrae L5/S1. I nodded sagely as if I understood the gradations of gray, black and white squiggles that represented my spine on his laptop screen.

He said I needed to strengthen my core muscles to support my back. I explained that I gave up on having a core after delivering two ten-pound sons more than twenty years ago. He smiled wisely and handed me a prescription for six weeks of physical training.

Let’s Get Physical

I arrived at my first appointment by bike, in yoga pants and tried sitting meditation in the lobby to make a good impression. I thought perhaps my therapist might go easier on me if I looked more Zen.

A cute guy with a sweet southern drawl was assigned to rejuvenate my sorry corpse.  I flopped onto his exam table and stuck my face into the cutout, once again enjoying every minute of lying down.

My pleasure was short lived. He poked and probed my back with his fingertips to trace every nuance of pain to its source. He noted every twitch and twinge on what looked like a score sheet and offered me his most sympathetic smile… a look I’m certain he uses on his own mother, for that is who I felt like at that moment.

The Core Issue

For six long weeks I have been at his mercy. I don’t mind the stretches of hamstrings, glutes and psoas. You can have a look at these magnificent muscles here.

I sit on a wobbly bubble gum pink ball in a doorway and look like a dufus trying not to slide off. I pose as a Bridge, a Child and the dreaded Plank, all the time holding my muffin top like a rock.

I side-stepped the length of the gym with my ankles bound together with stretchy red Thera-Band®.   John Cleese could not have looked sillier. This hip hurting exercise is a particularly annoying way to spend time, sort of on a par with breaking a sweat on StairMaster® to Nowhere.

What I came look forward to, at the end of each and every visit, is “ice and stim.” This is a rest period on a padded table with pillows and bolsters.  Four electrodes are attached beneath my waistband to deliver tingling vibrations  deep into my quivering back muscles, which are iced like a cold Budweiser.

When We Know Better, We Do Better — Oprah Winfrey

Yesterday I met my  physiatrist to report on my progress. He measured my range of motion and  let me off with a stern warning this time, but I’m sure we’ll meet again.

What I’ll remember from this episode, and maybe you should too, is to respond, not react. Our bodies will continue to send pain impulses to reinforce this message lest we forget.

We are built to go the distance, but humans are not equal to heavy machinery.

Pause before you make your move and be mindful of how you lift, pull, reach and bend. Those few moments can make all the difference.

Our baby boomer bodies are our homes for life. Sometimes I wish I could “flip” mine for a newer, more structurally sound model. From here on out, it’s going to be “patch, patch, patch” with a smile and a wince.

But with luck — and more artificial body parts, —  we’ll be movin’ and shakin’ for years to come.

What is your back story? Did you take great pains to get the help you needed? Did you learn this lesson without straining your sacroiliac?