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life

Paranoia

A not-so-quick story about how paranoia is real, regardless of how many years it’s been since I last smoked cannabis.

Yesterday, I went to the chiropractor—my first time ever. Despite having decades of back issues, I’ve been skeptical of the whole “science” of chiropractic, but I know enough people who swear by it that I figured it was time to give it a shot.

(Quick context: I throw out my back about two or three times a year, usually from something as mundane as sneezing)

A friend recommended a certain place, and I researched them. The two people who run it are licensed chiropractic doctors, married to each other, and part of the statewide and national chiropractic associations. They’ve been in business for years. I researched their doctorate. They both went to (and met at) Life University.

Life University? Really? First red flag.

So I researched the university. It’s struggled for years with its accreditation, but it currently has it.

Okay, it’s accredited, which reduces the red flag to a yellow flag. Plus, I have two (relatively) closed-down colleges on my resume, so who am I to judge? Besides, my friend swore by the place.

I made the appointment, and yesterday, I headed down.

I checked in and was sitting in the waiting room. Everything seemed good. There were good vibes in the place, and it looked professional.

About three minutes after I walked in, some dude in gray sweatpants and a gray hoodie came in. He went to the front desk and said, “Kyle Callahan.”

(If you don’t know, that’s my name).

The receptionist greeted him like she knew him and told him that one of the doctors would be with him in a minute.

So he sat a couple of seats down from me. I didn’t say anything, but my mind was like, “Who the hell is this dude, and why does he know my name?” My first thought was that maybe they had part-time contracted chiropractors who came in and did the preliminary work, kind of like dental hygienists. Maybe?

The doctor came out of his office and invited the dude in. They shut the door. Three or four minutes passed, and the dude came out and sat down again. I thought, “Okay, that was kind of the consult so the doctor could tell this dude what to do with me.”

Then the other doctor came out and called for me to come back. She led me into an exam room where I watched a five-minute video about spines, nerves, and chiropractic medicine. Then she returned, and we reviewed a history of my back problems. She then used a wand to measure my vertebrae in a few different ways, told me she’d get the data back at the end of the day, and that I needed to come back later in the week for a diagnosis and possible treatment plan.

She led me back to the receptionist so I could pay the bill and schedule my next appointment. During the walk to the front, I thought, “Okay, but who the hell is that dude?? Why does he know my name?!” My next thought was that this was all a scam, and the doctors had hired this dude to dig into my finances and insurance and find the best way to get all of my money out of me.

With my mind kind of freaking out, I made the appointment and stood at the desk, typing the information into the calendar on my phone. The doctor came back into the front, leaned out to the dude in the waiting room, and said, “Kyle, we’re ready now.”

At that point, I kind of exploded. I was like, “Hold up! Dude, what’s your name?” The doctor started laughing and said, “I know, right!” The dude was confused and said, “Kyle?”

“Kyle what?” I asked.

“Kyle Calanan.”