By Mordechai Schmutter

[Note: This week we present two humor articles by Mordechai Schmutter. Back-to-back episodes, so to speak.]

Today’s topic: How to live with a herniated disc.

A herniated disc is a common but extremely painful back injury, which is sometimes also called a slipped disc. But I don’t tell people that I have a slipped disc, because that sounds like you did it by accident one afternoon.(“Why can’t you be more careful?” “I don’t know! It slipped!”) Whereas a herniated disc sounds like the pressure was building for a while, and then one day it just exploded.

“It just herniated. Blew me right out of my chair. I was on the floor for a week.”

I was on the floor for a week. Well, actually, I was on the floor, on and off, for a little over a week, and then one morning I pulled something while putting on my socks and couldn’t get out of bed for three days until my wife called a friend of mine to help drag me to the doctor. Literally.

First of all, people keep asking me, “Do you know how it happened?” And I say no, and they say, “Well, you must know how it happened. It’s not like a cut, where you look over and say, ‘When did I cut my hand?’ You’re telling me that one day you noticed that you were sprawled out on the floor, and you said to yourself, ‘Hey! How long was I like this?’ Retrace your steps. What were you doing when it happened?”

I think they ask this because they want to use me as a cautionary tale. That way, they can say, “Don’t do X, like Schmutter did.” So I say I was putting on my socks.

Back pain was something that I’d always associated with old people, such as my parents. I’m only 36. Turns out it’s hereditary, though. This is scientifically proven: Back pain runs through families. (Well, not runs. More like commando crawls.) No one’s sure why this is. Maybe you’re falling asleep on the same couches.

Or maybe my back hurts because I sit at a desk all day. Apparently “humor writer” is not the healthiest job. Who knew? I thought laughter was the best medicine. For what?

I did go to the doctor, eventually, and now I’m out of bed, taking medication and waiting for my physical therapy to start, so I can learn what kinds of stretches I should and shouldn’t do. But in the meantime, I’m afraid to do anything.

For example, I’m not bending down. In theory. It doesn’t help that my kids put everything on the floor. We hand them something and say, “This goes on the ground floor.” So they go downstairs and put it on the floor. Or we say, “This goes upstairs.” So they put it up some of the stairs.

I’m also using a grabber to pick things up off the floor. I feel like one of those guys cleaning garbage on the side of the highway. But I’m getting a lot of practice. I could probably put on my pants if I got two of them. If I keep going, I’m going to be awesome at those claw machines. I’m going to win a whole bunch of stuffed animals, and then I’m going to come home and have to keep picking them up off the floor.

I’m also not wearing shoes and socks these days, as a precaution. So I wear Crocs everywhere. On Shabbos too. Last Shabbos I came to shul in Crocs, no socks, and a suit. People were like, “Are you wearing Crocs?” And I said, “Yeah, I have a herniated disc.” And they said, “Aren’t those in your back?”

I used to judge people who came to shul with no shoes or socks. Now I just assume they have back problems. Whenever I see someone in shul wearing sandals and no socks, I keep offering to bring him stuff. I don’t even mention why, because I assume he doesn’t want to talk about it.

My wife told me I need to get slip-ons. Those will look even weirder without socks, though. I think I need some kind of half-footie pajamas, where I put on my pants and the socks are attached. Or I can sew socks to the bottoms of all my pants.

I also have to figure out how to get some work done, because most of my work involves sitting, which is a huge pain in the back. The best way to sit is with something behind my lower back. Putting one arm behind me works best, except when I’m typing, which is whenever I’m sitting.

I’ve also had to stop sitting in my comfortable office chair, because apparently it’s too comfortable. Also, sometimes my back seizes up and I have to get out of the chair, slowly, while leaning on the arms for support, and that is not easy with a chair that has wheels. My best shot so far has been backing all the way up until I get to the couch, and then falling off the chair.

Meanwhile, I’m finding more and more people saying they also had a herniated disc. And they all want to give me conflicting advice. They start their story with, “Well, it started when I was 36 . . .”

And I’m like, “Hey, I’m 36!” Thanks for telling me this beforehand, so I could get a heads-up!” It should be on the birthday cards.

But in the meantime, the doctors put me on three kinds of pills, and I’m supposed to come in at some point to see a special doctor for what they’re calling a “pain-management shot.”

“Does it get rid of the pain?”

No, it manages the pain. Does a manager get rid of his employees?

But apparently, it’s a pain to get an appointment with this guy. His first available slot is in six weeks. So I have to just sit around waiting until then? It hurts to sit, you know. How long does each injection take? I don’t know how hard I want to work to make an appointment so a guy can put a needle in my back.

And anyway, the first date they wanted to give me was on the exact date of my brother’s wedding. In Toronto.

“Sorry, I’m going to be sitting in the car that day. For eight hours. I don’t know how I’m getting out afterward. I guess I’ll have a lot of relatives to help. Maybe the chassan.”

Maybe instead of standing in the back for the family pictures, I can lie on the floor, in front of the kids.

So I asked for the next available date, which was a full month later, at 7:30 in the morning. Do they know how long it takes me to get out of bed these days? Even with shaving off the 20 minutes it takes to put on socks.

I don’t understand why it takes so long. It’s a shot. Physicians give a million shots a day.

So I was told, “Oh, he’s very busy.”

“Busy doing what? Is this like his side job? Is he an accountant?” That would explain the 7:30 appointment. He has to get to work by 9.

I’m also in a rush because I’m the mascot for my kids’ day camp, for reasons I don’t quite understand. My main job as mascot seems to be to wear a crocodile costume that heats up to 350° and provides no peripheral vision while dodging kids who are trying to peek into my costume. I’m not even sure why the camp has a mascot. And I can’t very well ask, because mascots don’t talk. But apparently I’m irreplaceable, even with a bad back. They need me specifically because I’m funny, which is not that useful in actuality because I can’t say anything.

I guess it could be OK as long as I don’t do anything physical and I don’t have to sit, which I can’t do anyway because of the tail. The last thing I want is to wordlessly collapse in front of the kids, in costume, and traumatize them for life. And no one would even help me. The adults would think I was doing some kind of joke. “Oh, that mascot! Always falling down!” Or they’d go, “I don’t get it. What’s he trying to do here? He hasn’t moved in about ten minutes.”

And then my wife would have to call my friend to schlep me in to the vet. Maybe they could get me a faster appointment. v

Mordechai Schmutter is a weekly humor columnist for Hamodia and is the author of five books, published by Israel Book Shop. He also does freelance writing for hire. You can send any questions, comments, or ideas to MSchmutter@gmail.com.

SHARE
Previous articleMindBiz
Next articleBack To Bed

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here