Whew
Whew
Being able to breathe is so vital. Most days I have to pause to breathe after seeing my pulse. I still feel like a string wrapped around the end of my finger just a little too tightly. The string is a reminder for something I can’t recall, and the pressure, tolerable initially, builds back pressure that is counterintuitive to the finger’s viability, cutting off the very supply it requires.
The string is supposed to remind me to breathe. I’ve looked at it but not given it the attention for which it was put there.
So now I breathe….
Memoirs of a Chiropractor
Chapter 285
“… inda shade?”
The first office I worked in as a chiropractor was bustling. The same building officed an osteopathic doctor and a drug testing lab. I was in heaven with eyes wide, until one day…
The drug lab employed only females, so I was volunteered from time to time to handle ‘delicate’ situations concerning specimen collections. I can say I’ve watched one man pee into a cup, and that’s one too many. I’d rather have watched another man pee instead of the next call I received.
One company required a hair follicle sample for their prospective employees. The techs start from the head and work their way down until they’ve collected enough of a sample, including sub belly button region.
When ‘Hank’, an oversized man from Mississippi, came in bald, completely, I was summoned to venture down under and spare the ladies, and Hank, some sense of dignity.
Gloves donned, mini scissors snapping in one hand, a foil trough readied in the other, I went snorkeling. Hank did not offer any assistance, necessitating my back breaking task of shouldering up his belly, whilst scrounging for any significant amount of hair for collection. I’ll say it was sparse enough to harvest one at a time and leave it there.
Several ‘coming up for air’ moments later, I dove back down. Hank’s belly started shaking on my shoulder, erupting into his booming voice echoing….
“Boss, do da grass grow inda shade?”
Speaking of oversized, we visited Australia a handful of years ago. While checking in for an internal flight, I asked about stowing some boogie boards we had. They directed me to the ‘oversized department’ down the long, empty, stale corridor that looked more like my long, last walk to the electric chair, dark at the end.
I arrived next to a very tall, stout Aussie lady that probably competes in the Scotland Highlander games.
“What can I do for ya, mate?” Her thumbs would have hung in her overalls, had she been wearing them.
“I hear this is the oversize department,” realizing, once spoken, fell flat against the brick defense tower breathing next to me. Her thumbs would not be hanging in her coverall straps for long.
Thanks to some agility I still had back then, I escaped her embrace of death, scrambling to the wall with my pleads for truce whilst I sort myself out.
She relented, and amusingly rested her elbow atop my crown, one knee buckling to be prostrate.
“I hear there is a lovely woman around here that is more than capable of helping a lowly flip-flop wearing Texan stow some cheap boogie boards for his flight, departing in five.”
I didn’t stop until my neck un-accordianed.
