At the Chiropractor

It was 8:30 Friday morning and I had driven about 50 minutes to get to my first appointment at the chiropractor. I was sitting in the pre-treatment waiting area with an electrode patch stuck to the skin on each shoulder. Electric current pulsed from a small box beside me through a couple of wires and flowed into my body, giving me a strange sensation. The point of the focused electric current was to get my neck muscles to relax before the chiropractic adjustment, but I wasn't sure if it was working or not.

I was nervous for a few different reasons. For one thing, I'm still just a baby adult and still not entirely confident I make good decisions. I'm hoping it was a good idea to bring myself here. I'm also hoping the adjustment won't hurt and that I'm behaving myself appropriately. 

So I'm sitting there between a couple other patients, trying to find a balance between relaxing and not slouching, and absently wondering what effect the electricity is having on a cellular level and how it's neurologically stimulating my muscles to relax. Then I notice the man next to me also getting zapped is giving signals that he is thinking about talking to me. I immediately hope he doesn't because I'm already kind of nervous and I don't want to say something silly. But when he casually asks if it's my first time, I relax a little and nod.  

"Yours?" I inquire politely. (was that the right thing to say?) 

"This is my..." He tips his head back to study the ceiling, "17th time, I think?" 

My eyebrows go up and we take each other in from the side. He is a round, solemn man wearing the plain clothes, glasses and bowl haircut of an Amish man. But he obviously drove himself there, so I'm a little confused. Confused because he's looking at me with that sort of shy, cowering expression I've seen on many Amish faces when they interact with English people, but still doesn't look or act totally Amish. And his eyes are a striking pale blue, like a clear sky. 

Who is this man? I wonder. 

The vibes he's giving are that he is nervous too, but curious enough to risk taking to me. Why? 

I ask him if he likes the treatment he's getting and if it's helped. He nods and says it's been wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that he drives 3 hours one way to get to his appointments. Three times a week. 

I forget about my nervousness as my own curiosity takes over. I start peppering him with questions as politely as possible. 

Why do you come so far? 

Where do you live? 

What do you do? 

The Amish looking man softly and carefully answered my questions, looking at me sideways with his celestial blue eyes. He is a farmer from Monticello, KY (I grew up in Somerset, only about 30 mins away), and he gets up at 4:30 every morning to drive to Franklin, TN to get his treatment so he can make it home by lunchtime and go to work.

He comes so far because the treatment he is getting is worth it. The chiropractors use machines he hasn't found anywhere else.  He nodded solemnly; yes, he's satisfied. 

And all of a sudden, I was too. 

I went in to the treatment room and accepted my fate with more trust than before just because a gentle soul had bothered to talk to me. 

I don't know what makes meaning out of short exchanges like that, but there's definitely something there. Some sort of a connection that is different enough or hits you at a deeper level than most of your other daily activities. I live for these moments of clarity and connection with others, whether they are voiced or not voiced.