Some years ago, in 1997 to be exact, I suffered a couple of problems. First, my back got a little out of whack and second, my soft pallet, uvula and throat swole up to where I was having very real problems breathing. (An aside: Please, you kids over in the corner giggling, “uvula” is NOT a dirty word. It’s the little hangy-down thing in the back of your throat.)
Well, that hangy-down thing got so swole up it was laying on my tongue and I was about to strangle. Of course I put off doing anything as long as I could but the time finally came when I just had to do something so I went to an “Ear, Nose and Throat” specialist. He took one look and went slam crazy. “Mister Gibson, we’ve got to fix that right now. I’ll get everything set up and we’ll plan on operating first thing tomorrow morning. Meet me at the hospital at 6:00 and don’t eat or drink anything after midnight.”
“Whoa doc. Slow down. I got to get a second opinion here.”
“Okay, Mister Gibson, we’ve got to fix that right now. I’ll get everything set up and we’ll plan on operating first thing tomorrow morning. Meet me at the hospital at 6:00 and don’t eat or drink anything after midnight and on top of that you’re old and fat and ugly. Now, you want a third opinion?”
“No, that’s okay. Just let me go think about them two a little bit and get back with you.”
So I call another doc, explain the situation and ask if he can work me in. He says come on over.
He takes a look and says exactly what the other guy said so we set it up for the next day.
I show up and get all prepped and then they bring a bunch of paperwork for me to sign. Best I could tell, they were saying I would almost certainly die on the operating table but I wouldn’t sue them as attested to by my signature hereon.
That got me all upset so I got up, put on my pants and left.
Now, I’m out and back to Nahunta and I still can’t breathe and my back’s still out. What the heck, I’ll go get Matt O’berry, my friend and chiropractor, to adjust my back and at least that will be better. So that’s the deal. I head over to Matt’s office next to the nursing home.
I go in, sign the check-in sheet, sit down and start reading a National Geographic about using seaweed as a fuel source. First time I read about that was almost fifty years ago and it was in, I think, Scientific American. I’ve been regularly reading about it ever since and the estimate is always, “commercially viable in maybe twenty years.”
The receptionist comes and gets me and takes me back to a treatment room.
Before long Matt comes in. Nice as he can be as usual. He asks me what’s the problem and I tell him my back is out again. He tells me to lie down on my stomach and I do. He starts out by running a hand down my back the way you do a nervous horse to calm him down – and then he stops.
“William, are you having any trouble getting air?”
“Well, yes sir, I am.”
“Hang on a minute, I want to try something.”
He feels around a little, then he puts one hand here and one hand there and kind of pops my spine like he was popping a buggy-whip.
Poof. All of a sudden I can breathe perfectly No problem.
Before I leave, I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. No swelling. My uvula is just uvulating along like a regular hangy-down thing. Ain’t even no evidence left that I can use to sue them other docs for scaring me half to death Not a trace
Well, the man fixed my back and he fixed my airway and whenever I have a problem I now know to run it by him first before I do anything stupid.
Time passes by
I get tangled up in my famous deer vs motorcycle adventure, Nine rib fractures. Okay, I know he’d have to be crazy to start yanking that around but I ought to go let him know what’s happened and get his advice.
I go in, tell the receptionist my problem and she immediately puts me in a treatment room. In just a minute or two, he comes in. I tell my story and he comes over and starts gently feeling of the ribs. He says that he can’t do any adjusting but he might can show me something. He then showed me a couple of spots and how I could position my open palms on them and apply a gentle pressure and maybe get at least a little relief along and along.
I thanked him and went to the counter to pay He stuck his head out and said, “I’m not going to charge you for that.”
Friends, that man did me a service When I would cough or sneeze or move wrong, after I stopped screaming I would do what he said and it would ease the pain.
Matt Oberry, if you are reading this, thank you for these and the other things you have done for me over the years. You’re the best.
You other folks, if you ain’t his patient you need to be. The man knows how to do that chiropractor stuff. And, more importantly, he knows what to mess with and what to leave alone
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