I love my chiropractor. He’s the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. Cuddly, I’d venture. He zips around and gets so much done at once that I’ve always kind of been in awe of him. He’s very no nonsense when it comes to spines, which I like. When I twist mine beyond human capacity he snaps that baby back in place with a swift and certain motion, slaps on the little electroshock therapy thingies and leaves me to wallow and revel in my new found comfort. Just how I like it.
Plus, he always remembers everything about you. Literally, everything. Even when I’d skip my appointments for six months or so, he wouldn’t miss a beat. He would bring up stuff about me in the conversation that even I forgot about me. And believe me, he would take time to talk to you….about your life. Because you mattered. We all mattered. ILOVEDTHATMAN.
There’s just one problem with him: he’s now in a different country. Because he refused to move with me to the UK.
When I got here I started my “finding a new chiro” adventure. And an adventure it was. I found this one woman who did “gentle” chiropractic care. By “gentle care” she meant she could heal my wayward vertebrae with her mind. HER MIND. I am not making this stuff up. She moved me about gently and massaged my aura. I do have to admit that I did feel a little better after having my aura smoothed and rubbed. Psychological or not, I think I might have a dodgy aura that needs sorting.
Then there was the osteopath I went to that one time. The first time I went to the clinic I got cute Swiss guy and he did a few rubs and moves and stuff, but it didn’t fix my mangled back. I even giggled appropriately and stuff. Then the next time I went to that clinic (because I’m desperate and a glutton for punishment) I told the woman that I need some serious work and she proceeded to do this thing that frightened me a little. I remember thinking, “My personal space is a little invaded, but okay. Wait, why are you hugging me? What’s that? I need an adult! I need an adult!” So….I’ve not been back there. That place even had a soothing name like “The La La Clinic” or “Marshmallows” or something equally inoffensive.
So. This is my plea to get my original wonderful, bubbly, happy, remembers-everything-you’ve-ever uttered, perfect chiropractor to move his family to the UK so that my back can be a happy member of society again. Please, Dr. Rich. My spine needs you.
PS: His name is "Dr. Rich" short for Richard. It's not because he charges an arm and a leg, just in case someone decides to ask.