I might be a bit twisted, but I'm fixing that.

Let me just say that I have a longstanding rule about going to the doctor: I do not web surf to determine what this or that pain might be or to learn what may lie ahead of whatever fix I have coming. I'm a world-class worrier already. I don't need more anxiety from the myriad possibilities the interwebs offer.

I didn't do it when I had a child.
I didn't do it when I had my first root canal.
I didn't do it when my knee hurt so bad I couldn't walk.
I didn't do it when I was sure I was dying of uterine cancer.

Spoiler alert: the baby arrived just fine while I was in a morphine coma; my only root canal pain came from having my mouth open for so long, which surprised me as I can yammer on; I didn't need knee replacement; and it was a UTI easily fixed with meds

So when I was first encouraged to see a chiropractor,  I laughed politely and said I'd consider it. I can pop my own back, thank you very much, I was thinking. Years later, still in pain, I capitulated. How bad could it be? Tons of people see chiropractors every day. And my friend Bree Emsweller owns the place I went to. You may remember her from steering me toward lip waxing. I was temporarily less hairy, but man, I'm pretty sure that's on the list of things Homeland Security does in dark rooms in third world countries.

At Book Club the other day, I was complaining about my leg. Bree pushed and prodded on me awhile and suggested I visit  the Joint in Broad Ripple.

I was expecting a strenuous massage.

I kind of got beat up.

Don't get me wrong: it's been helpful. But I was really expecting something different than what I got. Remember, I did zero research other than Googling to figure out what to wear.

So I was a little tense, not knowing exactly what to expect. There was a moment when I was sure the good doctor had mistaken me for a chicken on a Sunday when the preacher was coming over for dinner.

After a couple of twists and jerks, he said, "I think we'll try something different; you don't seem to be relaxing enough to make that effective,"

I thought: "You got that right, buddy." I mean, it was like he was Tom Cruise and I was a bad guy who had to die silently. Who can relax in a situation like that?

The alternative was he took something like a hammer -- I was face down by this time on the table and didn't see the device he used -- and commenced to thumping on the sides of my neck like I was a watermelon he wasn't sure was quite ripe.

It was waaaaaaay better than the wrenching thing. but all things being equal, it's not something I'd generally pay for.

If you haven't been to a chiropractor to get what they call an "adjustment", let me clue you in: an adjustment requires the chiropractor to prod and pull and push on your body until your joints cry "Uncle." You're on a table that pops with every vigorous pummeling. It sounds like a jail door slamming shut on your innocence.

Sometimes he'll just pull your leg, but not in a fun kind of jokey way. He literally yanks on your leg.

And when you stand up at the end, you feel.... better.

Or I did. I'm still analyzing it, but apparently I have a twisted/tilted/uneven pelvis that needs to be pushed, pulled and prodded back into place. It's been the issue affecting my walk and potentially is why I have had leg pain for the last several years.

I'm kind of excited about it. Until, you know, I have to lay down again and have my joints pummeled back into the position they should have been in all along.

I think I recommend it. But I'm twisted/tilted/uneven.

Take my word for what it's worth.