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Bored with the back, already


Cottonwood Springs

I've been thinking about this back problem, trying not to "have a fit" as someone suggested. I've spent all afternoon at Cottonwood Springs, trying out the various pools, the sauna, resting, getting a massage. There is no doubt that heat makes it feel better, but once I cool off I'm back where I started.

One thing I've figured out. When you've got a bad back, it's best to put on a good front.

Nobody wants to hang around a whiner, least of all the whiner himself. I sorta expected rec.outdoors.rv-travel, given the group history, would be especially brutal, but as a matter of fact they've turned out to be broadly sympathetic and full of good advice. Now I've just got to figure out whether to take it, and when.

There have even been amazing offers of places to stay while seeing doctors, etc. My thanks to everyone.

The "therapist" here at the Spa suggested tome stretching exercises, which I'm going to try. I'm not immobilized, as I had feared. There's just this glow in the back that tells me to cool it, or the hot poker will return. Sort of like a tedious afternoon tour of hell, with my own little pitchfork-wielding "associate" to demonstrate the various facilities.

In between soaks, I've been trying to get into Wilde's "Portrait of Dorian Gray". The style is overly precious, too many tremulous flowers and the like, but there's an original aphorism on practically every page. Maybe too many of those too. The guy's very clever, but the book so far is all posing, set pieces and no action. Maybe I'll get into it. People I respect like the hell out of it.

I had forgotten how loud your heartbeat sounds under water. Wonder if sharks and such can zero in on that? Closer, closer, closer, there!

Pretty obvious I'm bored, isn't it?

I walked into the sauna to find a large German lady snoring away on the bench, and a tiny cassette recorder playing by her ear, exhorting her in dulcet tones to "Take pleasure in small things" and "Relax. Relax. Give yourself permission to relax." I stood it for a few minutes, but I couldn't help laughing, and had to get out of there.

No sign at all of Armand or the Rancher's Wife. Nor, alas, of the Peaches. Perhaps Armand is finding there's more to a "cow/calf operation" than he thought.

And perhaps not.

Enough. Here's the plan. I want to give this thing a little more time. I'm going to proceed tomorrow up to Lake Granby. When I get there I'll decide whether to go east through Rocky Mountain Park to see a doctor in Boulder or somewhere, or northwest to the Medicine Bow area. I've already got all the painkillers and muscle relaxers a body could want. Perhaps things will ameliorate with time and stretching. One can only hope.

Besides, there's doctors in Wyoming. Aren't there?


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