Lockport Union-Sun & Journal — I’ve been having some health issues with sciatica. (I think the medical term is “pain in the arse” — my wife, calls it “a bummer.”) And so, I’ve been hauling my sore and sorry butt to therapy a couple times a week to see if they can get me “back in the game.”
Actually, the pain is more in the hip and leg area, but I wanted to use those immature – giggle, giggle – rear-end references to start the column. That’s just the way I roll.
My new pal is Corey the therapist. He – and co-worker, Brenda – have put me through the ropes in an attempt to get me up and running. (I’ll settle for normal walking).
Corey, trained in the field extensively, made his plan of attack by seeing where my level of pain stood. I told him that no tests were necessary — it hurt when I took my hat off entering the building.
“But you weren’t wearing a hat!” he reminded me.
“That’s because it hurts. I told you that.”
It wasn’t long before I was flat on my back and Corey – my new pal, the therapist – was twisting and pulling my legs in what seemed like an attempt at making pretzels.
“Hey, these legs are making me thirsty,” he cracked. (That’s an inside joke for Seinfeld aficionados.)
The third time I went in, he had a game plan down – formulated from the success of my previous trip. Corey – my new pal, the therapist – was good at what he did. We chatted as he worked:
“I heard that the Pope resigned his Office.” I commented.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“I wonder what’s up with that?” I added. “I thought it was strange enough that he took to Twitter.”
What am I saying?! You see, I’m in over my head here. I have no idea what Twitter is or what it’s about — and now, I’ve gone and casually tossed it into a conversation. It’s like jumping into the deep end of the pool after tying my hands and feet together.