“Googling My Way to a Herniated Sense of Humor”

It all started on a Monday, which is nature’s way of telling you that happiness is optional. I woke up, stretched like a majestic housecat, and then—pop. My back decided it was time for early retirement.

Naturally, I turned to the most trusted medical expert in the world: Google.

Phase 1: Self-Diagnosis, aka “Dr. Google Will See You Now”

I typed in: “Sharp back pain when I breathe, bend, blink, or exist.”

First result? “You might have spinal cancer. Or gas.”

I wasn’t sure whether to make a will or eat a burrito.

Second result was a blog by a guy named Chad who healed his spine using Himalayan salt, goat yoga, and intermittent screaming. I tried it. My dog now thinks I’ve joined a cult and I might have mild salt poisoning.

Phase 2: Home Remedies (that should be illegal)

I found a YouTube video titled “Fix Your Back Pain in 60 Seconds OR ELSE.” The thumbnail featured a man smiling while twisted like a pretzel being attacked by a raccoon. I followed the steps:

Lay on floor.

Roll side to side while making a noise that sounds like a haunted door.

Drink celery juice while chanting “I am supple.”

I pulled a muscle sneezing from the celery juice. My back pain upgraded to a Premium Subscription.

Phase 3: Acceptance (and Crying on the Floor)

After trying yoga, ice packs, heat packs, peppermint essential oil, and one very judgmental foam roller, I was found sprawled on the living room floor muttering, “I think my spine is trying to crawl out of my body.”

That’s when I gave in and typed:

“Real doctor help please my back is dying”

And I hit the jackpot.

Enter: Dr. Aaron.

Dr. Aaron didn’t just help—he rescued me. He saw past the desperate, typo-filled email and said, “Okay, first, stop doing goat yoga. Second, your spine is not possessed.”

He guided me with calm authority, professionalism, and the kind of sympathy only someone who’s read “10 Ways to Heal Your Back With Crystals” can offer.

“Let’s start with proper posture,” he said.

“Like sitting?” I asked.

“Exactly. But… correctly.”

I was shook.

Under Dr. Aaron’s watchful virtual eye, I learned about stretches that didn’t require sacrificing my dignity. He introduced me to core exercises that didn’t feel like medieval torture. And perhaps most importantly, he never once suggested celery juice.

Conclusion:

Thanks to Dr. Aaron—and despite Google’s best efforts—I’m walking upright again. I still can’t do goat yoga without PTSD, and my foam roller now lives in the garage, where it can think about what it’s done.

Moral of the story?

If your back hurts, skip Google. Call Dr. Aaron. Unless you want to accidentally summon a chiropractor ghost using Himalayan salt and a kazoo.