R ran towards me across the field holding his right hand to his chest, it was clear that his thumb was dislocated. “Pop it back,” he half asked and half growled in pain. Without losing any time, I adjusted his thumb. “Thanks,” he said and swiftly ran back to his game before I could stop him to ice and tape the dislocated joint. Through the years, I saw him for many injuries—shoulders, knees, and thumbs. However, the worst one came two years ago. I saw it coming for a while through subtle signs but unfortunately wasn’t able to prevent it. R had three bulging disks ranging from four to nine millimeters, and he was in agony. He was a great natural athlete, strong and fast. He was also about as limber as a brick and stretching wasn’t a word he knew how to spell. After a few months
of rehab, his pain was gone and he was in a much better place, more humble yet flexible than before. Now and then, we’d have occasional episodes of pain but it was easily manageable. R stumbled into my office for our routine maintenance session. “My back is killing me man, it’s been really bad the last few days!” “What happened? Did you do something to aggravate it?” I asked. “No, nothing at all,” he claimed then went on. “But my wife went to visit her family and I kind of lost it, binged on junk food and couldn’t force myself to do anything. My back started acting up the day after she left. It’s been depressing and miserable.”
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