Moan. Moan. Moan.

And not the good kind.

The unbecoming kind.

I’m finally making a post because I’m changing that mindset. I mean, if I can’t stand listening to myself complain, I know it’s worse for those who are around me.

Last October, I made an appointment with my chiropractor in DC. When I arrived, I learned that he’d sold his practice to some new guy. Since DC traffic elicits road-rage even in the gentlest of souls, I kept the appointment.

Ushered into the treatment room, I noticed the kid-chiropractor had a laser machine. I’d been reading how laser therapy was on the cutting edge for healing a bum shoulder, so I asked about it. He said laser only worked if it was a new injury. But no worries! He could break up the adhesions that were preventing my shoulder from regaining full mobility.

I was all in!

It had been almost two years that I’d diligently been working to restore my arm and I was looking forward to getting back to normal.

Before addressing my shoulder, the chiropractor had me lie face down on the table, and using both hands, he gave a quick thrust to my lower back. I’d never had an adjustment like that before. It sent shooting pain to the muscles in my rib cage—I was shocked they weren’t in total spasms when I stood up.

Next, he said he was ready to work on my arm.

Concerned, I asked if that would make my now aching rib worse, and since he said no, I allowed him to continue. The kid held my shoulder down and repeatedly lifted my arm way up past the 75% mark. I looked to my right and saw that my arm was pointing straight up at the ceiling, something it hadn’t done for years. Once he was done on that side, he did the same on the other. When he was about to start on my bum arm again, since the manipulation was too intense, I stopped him and said he was going too far, too fast.

Long story short, I walked into his office with my lower back needing my typical preventative maintenance adjustment, and walked out in agony.

Turns out, he fractured one of my vertebrae.

I have never known blinding pain like this before. Or, better said, I’ve never known physical pain like this before. It feels like the somatic equivalent of the emotional “Big Blow” I experienced 5+ years ago. (I have written an article about that emotional shock. As soon as it’s published in mainstream media I will have permission to publish it here.)

Currently, I’m trying to recover on both fronts—from the emotional and now physical pain of the previous five years—albeit I’m trying to inject a little more grace into the process.

Grace meaning, to have as much gentleness for myself as I would for anyone else, instead of pushing myself to heal quicker than my body and spirit can handle. Or, if I’m being totally honest, I’m trying to stop myself from trying to outrun the pain and confusion caused by the Big Blow.

So, that’s the story of where I’ve been.

Because of the healing power of Hawaii and the intense work I undertook each time I was there, I’ve made great strides on the emotional front. But damn it all if I can’t help thinking that had I been able to go back to my beloved island last fall as I normally do, this injury would’ve never happened, as the kid-chiropractor wouldn’t have been anywhere near me.

But what’s done is done. My eyes are now trained on the horizon, exactly where they need to be.

To that end, I’ve placed a photo of my younger self on my night table stand. It sits beside a photo of an aspect of the Blessed Mother that my friend Sabin gave me and a necklace of Saint Michael from my son Andrew.

I was just recently given the greenlight to begin physical therapy. Rehabbing will be my full-time job this winter, as I am determined to be as powerful, strong and healthy as I was in that photo, all the while keeping the wisdom that my years on earth have provided.

This is completely doable.

Last fall, I joined a few online support groups and found dozens of women in their 80s who said that when they were around my age (67), they felt weak. However, once their injury presented, they used it as a blessing in disguise.

I’m taking a cue from them.

Because of their efforts in their 60s to heal their injury and become physically fit, they’re currently out in the world doing the things they love: playing pickleball, running marathons, riding horses and dancing at night!

I would’ve preferred to have learned this lesson from joy instead of fear, but what can you do? You have to work with the hand you are dealt.

Oddly enough, this experience has a side bonus.

I realized that I really miss my mom. I never had a chance to grieve her death, what with the Big Blow, Covid, and everything concerning our country that came in Covid’s wake.

The forced-downtime gave me the space I doubt I would’ve taken to grieve the things that I’d pushed into the deep recesses of my mind—and apparently—into my body as well.

And while I’m glad to be thinking of my mom, it makes me feel “little” for wishing she was here to bitch and moan to. Even stranger, to be comforted by, especially since I thought that trait was lacking in her for most of my life. Oh well. You have to grow up someday, but what a waste of time it took me so long.

Here’s to you! if you’re also moaning in displeasure. I’m sure Funk is tired of hearing me whining and wishes that he’d hear me calling on Jesus for other reasons. But good guy that he is, he just sits nearby, rubbing more CBD cream on my back and tossing another tissue my way to mop up the tears.

Wishing you a vibrantly healthy and prosperous New Year! To us!

The Photo. Me, in my early 20s. To return to vibrant good health, I am feeding myself the mantra that I preach to others who need a confidence boost where it regards their wellbeing. It goes something like this: Our bodies are designed to heal! They want to heal! And they will heal if we give them what they need.

Or, as my acupuncturist used to say “Gladia, if you put a little effort into climbing the “wellness path” you’ll be as healthy as me when you’re my age!” Just for reference, Reiko is 20 years my senior and has always been ahead of her time.