It turns out that having a twisted pelvis is hilarious! Not just giggle funny. Not conspiratorial cackle funny. Way beyond a polite teehee. I'm talking smiling so hard it hurts, eyes closed, no sound, can't catch your breath, whooping, potentially pants peeing, stomach clenching, tear producing, you know you shouldn't be laughing but you can't help yourself gut-busting laughter. Who knew?
Actually, I predicted this act of inappropriate chortling before I sat down with the physical therapist. Five out of six health care providers that I've been to since my injury have witnessed me break down in tears and/or uncontrollable spasms of raucous laughter. I can't help it, this unforeseen affliction is intertwined with my emotions to a degree that any and all treatment is not just a physical adjustment but a trip to the psychologist as well....whether those care givers intend it or not. Perhaps I should have tipped more....
My first three attempts at pain relief were in S. Lake Tahoe. Painfully limping into the massage therapists' studio I was fairly certain that a massage wasn't going to cure me, but I thought it might loosen up my frozen muscles and, really, since when did a massage hurt? I waited in the swanky spa waiting room looking at skin products I would never allow myself to spend so much money on and felt somewhat out of place. Once ushered into the room, the massage therapist was very welcoming and friendly and put me at ease right away. When she asked me what she could help me with and I began explaining to her about hiking the PCT and the extreme pain I was in I just burst into tears. At that point I was just freshly off the trail and was very distressed at falling behind my thru-hiking pals and worried about how long it would take for me to get back on the trail. I had, after all, dreamed and planned for this trip for many years. So as I described the pain and the trip I just spontaneously began blubbering. I don't cry easily or often, much less in front of strangers. so I cried, apologized, justified and laid down on the table and shut my dough hole. The masseuse was very understanding and did an excellent job of not making me feel like a nitwit. The massage was nice, but not miracle-working.
The next step I took in seeking relief was going to a chiropractor. I walked in with no appointment and he agreed to see me immediately. I think he could hear the desperation in my voice. Again, while explaining my predicament I got the quiver lip and cracked voice and had to bow my head for a second. It's like I was already mourning not being on the trail. I regained my composure and he took me through a battery of tests. At that point almost everything caused sharp pain, but I sucked in my breath and sucked it up, letting him know what hurt and what was OK. But here's where things get quirky: when I'm anticipating pain or when I'm in shock and pain I react with sheer unadulterated laughter. As the doctor was pressing on my taut muscles, he might as well have been tickling me under the arm. Seriously. He looked at me like I was a) crazy, b) crazy, and c) crazy. Between shrieks of laughter I assured him that he was not hurting me excessively and that I was OK, but that, yes, that was a tender spot. Only one minute later I was weeping with pain, not laughter. He took it in stride and gave me his diagnosis. As I left his office I thanked him profusely and went to shake his hand and he opened his arms to give me a hug. I accepted it gratefully as it felt like we'd been through a lot in just 50 minutes together. He chuckled when I told him he was better than "Cats."
The very next day I went to see an acupuncturist. Again, anticipating an emotional explanation of my situation, I was nearly able to get the words "I may cry" out before I started crying while describing my journey and ailments. Having had acupuncture treatments in the past, I know that they often tap into emotional outlets and I knew this injury was very closely attached to disappointment, pride, sadness, and some fear. As the practitioner placed the needles in my body I tried to relax. And then she hit The Spot. Whatever channel she tapped in to, it let the tears flow freely. She looked concerned. I lay on the table weeping and reassured her I was totally fine. No, really.
I did not get any further treatment, other than a shot of honky-tonk, an injection of old-time, a splash of bluegrass, and a dose of cajun, until I got here to Seattle where I've been on the down low with friends formerly from Alaska. I found a sliding-scale acupuncture clinic and made appointment. I made it through the interview process just fine, but once the needles started going in the emotions started flowing out. As I lay in a comfortable recliner with a total stranger using me as a pincushion, my tear ducts turned on and the waterworks began. Again I tried to assure the woman that I was just fine....really.
Finally, with high accolades from my hosts, I found my way to a physical therapist who could see me on short notice. As my three tiny hooves (don't forget the cane!) made their way up the stairs into his work space I prepped myself for an outburst of emotions. My body seemed to be finally, finally, starting to heal and loosen up, but I was anticipating the quakey chin and visions of a trail so far away that it made me sad. I hobbled to the table, hopped up onto it (a la "Young Frankenstein"-style hopping...if you know what I mean), and told Mike the PT that I very well may cry. He seemed amiable to this. The appointment proceeded. I made it through the introductions with nary a pout or wetting of the cheek. Everything felt in check and straight forward.
Here's the skinny: somewhere along the trail my pelvis started twisting. Yup, just what it sounds like. My left hip twisted forward while the right went back resulting in my left leg being 1/4" longer than my right. This caused my horrendous limp because essentially all the muscles on the left side of my body, from my lower back down my leg, threw up their hands and quit working. They weren't happy with the working conditions and went on strike. Froze up. This caused my right side to have to pick up the slack, compensate, cross the picket line and become the scabs of the muscle world. My left side didn't want to budge and my brain was powerless to fix the problem. As a matter of fact, my brain had been wooed by my left side and totally forgotten that it had any say in the matter. Oh powerless brain...so easily wooed.
So what Mike the PT did was reprogram my brain, remind it that it is in charge, by pressing into muscular channels along my back and legs. No problem, he said. As he delved into some deep tissues and put pressure on some extremely high strung muscles, my hysteria function was triggered. I started out giggling and proceeded into full-fledged belly laughter as if I'd just been dosed by the dentist with laughing gas. I kept apologizing and he assured me it was no problem. The more I tried to stop laughing the more I laughed. Tears were streaming down my face but not because of sadness, longing, or even necessarily pain. It was certainly tender in those poor tense muscles, but it just genuinely tickled.... I think it's one way I process pain and panic. When you see a man reach under your hip bone to reach a buried psoas muscle, one can kinda freak out. As my more superficial belly muscles contracted with my gales of laughter, his fingers would be popped out of the deeper area he was trying to reach. "Sorry!" (again) "No problem." (he waited until the current spasm receded and reached back in for the aggravated muscle). I truly tried to take deep breaths and calm down, but the laughter kept winning. And by gosh, it was super fun. Laughing is fun. I just kind of felt silly for being the only one in the room having a fit. Ah well, Mike took it well.
The good news is that I walked out of that building with two legs the same length. Slowly, and with precision and still needing the cane ever so slightly, I am walking with a nearly normal gait. I've got exercises to practice to strengthen those panicky left side muscles that froze into place and wouldn't budge for weeks on end. With (more) patience, practice, and PT I'll be back to normal eventually. No permanent damage and this incident shouldn't affect future physical ventures. Yay. I've come to accept that I won't be getting back on the PCT this season. Tough one. But I'm grateful that my body will recover and that I will be able to finish it in the future. Question is: start where I left off or start all over again? That's one to ponder....
I believe this injury was the result of gear failure. My pack was extremely heavy and worn out and was adjusted by a well-meaning hiker just as I left Yosemite. Not an hour later I was fidgeting with it, it was cutting into my shoulders, and I was constantly shifting it while walking. I never could get it back to just as it was for the first 942 miles which was good enough. Also my shoes wore out on that 8 day stretch from Yosemite to S. Lake Tahoe and my feet and knees were taking the brunt of that piled on top of the uncomfortable, heavy pack. Can't go back and change it, but I can be prepared for this kind of thing in the future.
I can say that that trip to Mike the PT was one of the most hilarious doctor appointments of my life.
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