Wherein Pearl Gets Adjusted; or I'm Back, I'm Nationwide

After two months of splints, anti-inflammatories, margaritas and a promise made by a man on the bus to come over and “take care” of me, I can once again use my upper extremities.

The answer to chronic tendonitis? 

The chiropractor.

A team of bouncy, energetic types working for Lyn LakeChiropractor set to work on my arms with a fervor rarely seen outside of revival tents.  I’ve had electricity course through my hands until my fingers danced of their own accord, I’ve been beatenwith stainless steel devices, I’ve had my arms massaged, manipulated, taped, and yanked by clear-eyed young men with large thumbs and an intense understanding of my musculature.

It’s been a trip.

“I – uh – take back – uh! – all the smarmy things I ever – uh! – said about chiropractors.”

Pop!  My elbows and wrists are realigned.

This confession brought about laughter.  Apparently they hear the grunting admiration of the newly converted fairly often. 

This is not to say that I am completely out of the aching-armed woods just yet.  I will, for example, be icing both forearms in just a few minutes.

That would be a good time, by the way, to rummage through my purse.  I’m pretty sure there are scandalous things in the bottom of it.

As it is, however, I’m better.  I’m back.  And I have books of notes taken to remind me of the all the weird things that have happened since the last time I wrote.

I’m psyched.


A big "thank you" and "is this love?" to Ren Potter, Indigo Roth, Shelly Morales, and a host of others who sent me exercises, herbal/homeopathic cures, and words of encouragement.  It' s been hard on me, these last few months, and everyone's been so kind.