Liz, you’re not the only one with droopy eyes

I accidentally ended up in a chiropractor’s office today. He told me that I had, among other things:

-Droopy eyes
-A messed up back
-A tight chest
-A crooked jaw
-A sprained ankle

I had no idea I was such a disaster. I felt fine.

I have to say, though, that the sprained ankle was the biggest surprise to me:

WG: “Why do you think I have a sprained ankle? I’m not limping. I didn’t have an accident. And most importantly, my ankle doesn’t hurt.”

CP: “Look at your left foot. What do you see?”

WG: “A bunion.”

CP: “That’s right. That’s caused by a sprained ankle.”

WG: “But I’ve had this bunion since 7th grade.”

CP: “Yep. Probably the result of wearing stilettos…”

WG, to self: Stiletto flip flops?

CP: “Or maybe a sports injury like from playing basketball.”

Basketball, really? Perhaps he didn’t notice that my feet don’t even touch the floor sitting in this chair.

Then we moved on to the tight chest. And apparently he didn’t mean that I was stacked like the Ghost Whisperer.

CP: “Does that hurt?” (as he presses deep into my pectoral muscles)

WG: “Yes.”

CP: “See? I told you they were tight.”

WG: “I think it just hurt because you were pressing on them.”

CP: “No, it hurt because they have gotten really tight from spin class. Does this position look familiar?” (He bends forward with his hands out.)

WG: “No.”

CP: “I’m riding a bike. See how I’m leaning on the handlebars?”

WG: “We don’t lean on the handle bars in spin class. We actually forbid that.”

CP: “Oh. Well, then you know why your chest muscles are so tight? Because of that.” He points at my chest.

WG, to self: My enormous boobs? Is this guy for real? I gotta get out of here.

CP: “When you cross your arms like that, it causes your chest muscles to tighten.”

WG, refusing to uncross my arms: “It’s not like I do this all day.”

Since we didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with the chest area and my left ankle still seemed to be feeling fine, he went for the jaw:

CP: “I see you also have TMJ.”

Like the sprained ankle, this was news to me.

WG: “Really? Why do you say that?”

CP: “I can see it. Your jaw is crooked.”

WG: “Huh. That’s funny. Because I had jaw surgery and my oral surgeon never mentioned that. Nor has my dentist, orthodontist or periodontist.”

CP: “Yep. You’ve got it. Some signs of TMJ are headache…”

WG: “Nope.”

CP: “…grinding your teeth at night…”

WG: “Nah.”

CP: “…clenching your jaw…”

WG: “Not a problem.”

CP: “…droopy eyes.”

Just as I was about to shake my head at that one he says, “Yes. Your left eye is lower than your right.”

WG, getting steamed: “I wasn’t aware of that.”

CP: “Look at yourself in the mirror sometime. You’ll notice that your left eye droops down.”

I happen to look at myself in the mirror all the time, thank you, and my droopy eyes have never bothered me. At least not yet.

After that there was some more lecturing, insulting and an odd lesson where he had me stretch out rubber bands to symbolize leg muscles. Oh, and there were a lot of rhetorical questions that became unrhetorical when he answered them himself:

“Why do we exercise? To prevent osteoporosis.”
“What’s the first sign of a heart attack? Can’t raise the left arm.”


When I realized that he could have this Q&A session without me, I picked up my purse. “Well, that’s a lot of information,” I said. “But I’m in a hurry and I really didn’t expect this to take so long.”

“Come back sometime and I’ll give you a free adjustment,” he said.

“Sure!” I lied. I’m never going back there. I don’t know how I ended up there in the first place.

Plus, I’ve got so much to do! I have to go get some crutches for my sprained ankle; I need to practice not crossing my arms so my chest will untighten; I need to find some sort of apparatus to fix my TMJ and I need to talk to a plastic surgeon about raising up my droopy left eye.
All this and I still have to find time to shoot some hoops.

Neither I, nor my pound cake, is droopy.