The Back Pain Avenger:
Heal Chronic Back Pain and Destroy It Forever
Written, published, and copyright 2011 by Joe Chiappetta, Smashwords Edition.
Edited by Denise Chiappetta.
Back Pain Avenger cover illustration shows a tulip standing straight up saying to a very bent tulip that he should see a chiropractor about that. It's an ink brush drawing on 9" x 12" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
http://joechiappetta.blogspot.com
The Back Pain Avenger is a non-medicated memoir of rehabilitation. Discover how one eccentric leader in the disability community finally overcomes his own back injury and no longer suffers from chronic back pain. Find out if the unorthodox methods he uses in healing back pain will work for you. This hard to believe, funny, yet true story is written and illustrated by award winning author Joe Chiappetta. Disability advocates, people with disabilities, their family members, as well as healthcare professionals and businesses who employ people with disabilities will be aching with laughs, insight, and the awareness that brings healing in this lighthearted yet powerful journey. Alternative medicine meets cartoon humor and the Bible. The book also includes Disability in Comics: a chronological index of major characters with disabilities featured in the history of comic books and strips. Contains 25,000 words and 78 Silly Daddy comics and illustrations.
Earliest draft cover for Back Pain Avenger when working title was "Disability Fix." Mixed media digital illustration is by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Table of Contents
Why I Wrote this Book
Chapter 1: No Really, I'm Fine
Chapter 2: Invincible or Not
Chapter 3: The Juiciest Form of Pain Relief
Chapter 4: How Many Disabilities Do I Really Got?
Chapter 5: Accommodations I Have Known
Chapter 6: Fearful First and People First
Chapter 7: Disability Geekdom
Chapter 8: The System Is Not Your Friend
Chapter 9: A Funny Thing Happened while Exercising
Chapter 10: Ramping Up to Be Healed
Chapter 11: The Flat Tire Test
Chapter 12: Captain Disability to the Rescue?
Chapter 13: Unbearable Troubles: Nothing New Yet No Less Dramatic
Epilogue: Disability in Comics
Essay by Maria Chiappetta on Being a Daughter of Silly Daddy
About the Author
Catalog: View Other Books and Items by Joe Chiappetta
Why I Wrote this Book
A woman waving a book around in disappointment asks her man, "How come I'm not on the cover of your new book?"
Her man replies plainly, "It's not about you."
Covergirl Shocker comic is a digital drawing on iPAQ Pocket PC edited in Inkscape and Adobe Illustrator by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Time and time again, life turns out nothing like I expected. Five years ago, the thought of me making a book about health issues would have seemed like the dumbest, most boring thing imaginable. Moreover, I certainly never expected my growth as an artist to hit a wall. Yet that is exactly what happened when my chronic lower back pain increased to such a terrible extent that I could not sit for more then a brief period without extreme discomfort. As such, holding a coherent thought or a coherent brush stroke became a challenging experience. While I still pushed-on creatively with Silly Daddy comics, I could feel the zeal of my cartoon communications wearing thin.
Yet it was these very trials that have led to the most amazing experience of my lifetime. Since my teenage years I have lived with this often debilitating lower back condition, and after two decades struggling to find relief, I have finally found a rehabilitation plan that has worked completely. I wrote The Back Pain Avenger so that others might have the same opportunity at recovery from chronic back pain as I have had.
My intent is to share that journey with others in an educational, inspiring, and even humorous manner. Some may gloss over the disability concepts in this book and think, "It's not about me." I would amend that statement to say, "It's not about you yet!" According to the US Department of Health and Human Services, 80% of Americans experience lower back pain in their lifetime. After the common cold, lower back pain is the second leading cause of lost work time, with Americans spending $50 billion each year on this condition. People are living longer and health impairments can happen to anyone at any time. Therefore I believe the future holds more creative exploration of disability issues for me--and perhaps for you too.
I have encountered countless people in the deepest despair of chronic back pain with no hope in sight. Since my recovery in 2008, I have conversationally told these kindred spirits how I am now pain-free. To their astonishment, they eagerly want to know all the details of how I got healed. Therefore, using my 20-year background as a cartoonist and novelist, it seemed most fitting to turn those skills toward putting words and pictures together in this non-medicated memoir of my rehabilitation.
Joe Chiappetta, 2011
The Back Pain Avenger:
Heal Chronic Back Pain and Destroy it Forever
By Joe Chiappetta
The Back Pain Avenger with a Bolt illustration depicts Joe as a flying superhero struck through the back from a lightning bolt sent by a giant powerful heavenly hand. It's an ink brush drawing on 8.5" x 11" paper by Joe Chiappetta, colored in Paint.net program and edited in Adobe Illustrator.
Chapter 1: No Really, I'm Fine
Helpless in the Hospital comic is a digital drawing on iPAQ Pocket PC edited in Adobe Illustrator by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
I sat by powerlessly and drew pictures many years ago while someone very close to me was hospitalized and seen by a parade of countless doctors. Her health situation was so severe, that she couldn't leave the hospital even if she wanted to. The walls were padded and the door was locked each time someone entered and exited the room. Something about being in such a room was quite intimidating. On top of all the concern I felt for her, I also remember filing away an extreme thought; "Wow, I never want to be at the mercy of hospital doctors--ever! It's like a prison in here. I'd rather die! Helpless in the hospital? Not me." Much later, this exact hospital decision would be put to the test.
Perhaps my test could have been avoided if I had paid more attention to the word "slip." It's in the Bible as a warning over ten times! I never noticed that before... until it was too late.
Slippery Start for a Slippery Disc on a Slippery Road comic is ink brush and pens on 11" x 8.5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Running across a big street named after a big former mayor of Chicago--that's where everything slipped out of control--on Cermak Road. That's when my health problems glided into a new low. I was on my way to work, trying to catch the train from Cicero to downtown Chicago. The cold winter morning hadn't affected me yet, or so I thought. I had just finished shoveling the snow by my house not twenty minutes prior.
I like Cermak Road. At the time I was living three houses from that grand old street, and for most of my life, my various dwelling places have been no more than three miles away from this major Chicago roadway. The street is named after Mayor Anton Cermak. In 1933 he took an assassin's bullet while shaking President-elect Franklin D. Roosevelt's hand, and died of those wounds a few weeks later.
As for me, no shots were fired, but I got wounded on the road that was renamed in honor of Chicago's fallen mayor. While I crossed the middle of his street, I swiftly slipped on a small unassuming patch of ice. I chalked it up to God or my many years in wrestling as to the reason why I didn't fall from this slip. I actually kept on running. Yet instantly, I knew something was seriously wrong. In roughly forty years, I had already grown somewhat accustomed to living with mild chronic back pain. However that particular day on Cermak Road was quite different. My hip shifted ever so slightly out of control, causing a shocking and intense shooting pain to attack my lower back and not relent. In the hours, weeks, and even years thereafter, this back pain got so bad that there were times I wished I had died of my Cermak Road wounds.
Nevertheless, in automatic get-to-work mode, and with cramping, excruciating pain, I hobbled onto the train, and hunched over in one of the single seats hoping no one would ask me if I needed to go to the emergency room. It was as the train pulled out of the station toward Chicago that I had a chilling thought; "I don't think I can make it. I'm in so much pain; maybe I should just lay down right here and die."
Obviously, that's not what I did. By some miracle, or sheer foolish determination, I made it to the office. However my boss, despite being legally blind, took one blurred look at my face with my hunched-over mannerism, and insisted, "Joe, you look sick. You need to go home!"
I straightened up somewhat, crafted the best smile I could fake, and declared, "No really, I'm fine."
Illustration of Joe hunching over and clenching his spine with extreme chronic back pain yet straining to say, "No, really, I'm fine," is an ink brush drawing on 8.5" x 11" paper by Joe Chiappetta. It's colored in Paint.net program and edited in Adobe Illustrator.
However, this was not an Oscar-winning performance, and my boss ran to get her boss. While she did so, I did the only thing I was capable of at the time; I lied down on the floor and closed the door to my office. Moments later, the two bosses barged into my space and insisted, "We are calling an ambulance and taking you to the hospital. Something is wrong with you! We need to get you some help."
Still wincing in pain while clinging to the ugly gray carpeted floor, I countered, "No, I don't want to go to the hospital. I'll be fine. Just let me rest for a little while here on the floor."
"We can't do that," said the big boss. "It's a liability. Either we take you to the hospital right now or we call you a limo right now to get you a ride home."
Not having any confidence in health professionals, which up to that point had done nothing to fix my mild chronic back pain, I decided, "Fine, I'll just go home, but I can't afford a limo." As I started to get up, I gasped numerous times with spasms of pain.
The big boss became even more alarmed and declared, "I bet you have kidney stones. Those things are painful. Oh boy, I remember when I had mine; that was the worst experience I ever had! Don't worry about the cost of the limo. We'll pay for it."
I was too weak to tell him that I didn't think that I had kidney stones. However, I did thank him as he escorted me to the limo. While I crawled into the vehicle and lay down in the back seat, the big boss said, "Take a few days off and let us know how you're doing. But really, you need to get some help. You know us guys; we get older, and realize we're not invincible. Face the facts, Joe."
How did I get to such a state of painful existence? Let me think back. I remember younger days as a carefree parachuter, a champion wrestler, a rooftop jumper, and a fearless football player. Those were my early years--defined by the thought that my body was well-made and pretty indestructible. It all started as a child on the playground. I swung from swings with as much momentum that a seven-year-old can muster. At the highest forward arc of the swing, I would then leap off, into the warm summer sun. The moment of zero gravity as I shifted from upwards to downward was exhilarating.
Almost always, I would imagine being Spider-Man, the Beast, or any one of my favorite super heroes from the Avengers as I came to a rolling yet nonetheless abrupt landing on the ground. It was just like in the Marvel Comics, or as near as I could make it out to be. The kids had a term for this daring playground activity. It was called parachuting. The problem, however, with this clever name, was that there was no actual parachute involved in the activity. Such trivial details would not serve to stop me, and I became an expert playground parachuter in no time at all.
Thus began my pattern of cause-less heroics. I would engage in related actions throughout the first two decades of my life. These activities gradually seemed to wear down my lower back. Yet the appeal of flying through the air was too strong to resist just for the sake of some adult concept called safety. If only I could have seen the bigger picture--the Cermak Road; "Look Mom! I'm freefalling into chronic back pain!" Quickly passing through the stratosphere, I soon landed myself more time in pain and in bed: a place known to many as the Pillow-sphere.
Freefalling into the Disability Pillow-sphere illustration is ink brush and marker on 11" x 8.5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
As far as I knew, freefall swinging never got organized into a sport, which is where wrestling and football came in. My many seasons on the wrestling team, lifting up people from all sorts of uncomfortable positions became part of my regular routine, as did a few seasons of gung-ho football. I was a defensive cornerback, yet couldn't catch a thing. To overcompensate for my inability to make interceptions, I recklessly attacked anyone from the other team with anything resembling a football.
This naturally landed me many big tackles, and on one occasion, a visit from some paramedics after I tackled a boy who had legs as big as a tree. I use the term "boy" loosely. While this was high-school football, I'm sure the giant running back who collided with me was made of concrete and worked in the steel mills by night. My ears were ringing, from the impact with him, and I was deaf for a few minutes.
When I stumbled to my cleated feet, I kept saying, "I'm fine. Really, I'm fine." Little did I know that such a line would later become habitual. On the gridiron, I must have blacked out for a brief moment, because I don't remember making that tackle, yet when I could finally hear again, the team was patting me on the back and encouraging me for making such a fearless tackle. It apparently stopped concrete man from scoring a touchdown. The paramedics arrived to look me over. After examining my eyes and skull, they released me, saying that I didn't need to go to the hospital. Perhaps they should have been looking at my back.
Also mentionable were the occasional jumps I would take from the garage roof to the grass, just for fun. If someone were to ask me what I was thinking during those wild moments in the air, I would respond like any bird would; "I like to fly, of course." Little did I know that all that flying-high fun would give way to multiple trips to health professionals in the decades to come, and they would pluck my feathers away.
Perched Parrot Losing a Feather illustration is a digital drawing on iPAQ Pocket PC edited in Adobe Illustrator by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Not that I would have to wait that long. By the time I was sixteen years old, I remember my mom taking me to the doctor's office due to back pain. They x-rayed me, but couldn't find anything wrong. The best they could do was to tell me to practice proper lifting techniques. They even gave me a chart to take home so I could learn all these fancy moves. Bend at the knees, hold items close to your chest--all the usual tips. Like a good patient I adopted those proper lifting techniques to the letter. From that day onward, you would never see me lift with my back--only from the knees.
Yet proper lifting techniques never healed me. In the years that followed, other medical professionals found many things wrong with my back. The list went on and on: slightly curved spine, early stage arthritis, herniated discs, bulging discs, degenerative disc disease, and even neurological disorder. A healthy back compared to my back seemed to yield medical illustrations that might make a person cry.
Spine Comparison comic is ink pen and marker drawing on 8.5" x 5.5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
With the increase of these expert opinions pointing out all that was wrong with my back, I started to wonder if I was already broken beyond repair. If only I could find a hero to rescue me from the pains of my youth. Was there anyone who could vanquish the aching and throbbing of my lower back? The comic books I read and collected told tales of valiance and vengeance--of the helpless everyman yanked from the clutches of injustice and death just in the nick of time. That's the kind of hero I needed. I was searching for a Back Pain Avenger.
Chapter 3: The Juiciest Form of Pain Relief
I have done a number of extreme and even bizarre things in an attempt to get rid of my chronic and sometimes even crippling back pain over the years. Perhaps the tangiest effort of them all was the time I used Italian Ice as a pain reliever. Yes, I am aware it's really a dessert. Prepare yourself for spine-chilling laughter from the man who put a frozen snack on his lower back. My thoughts seemed logical at the time; "This Italian Ice Pop should numb my back pain. Then, before the container thaws completely, I'll eat it!"
My sweet new pain relief formula was working quite nicely. I even was feeling proud of myself for coming up with such a brilliant and utilitarian pain relief plan. Perhaps I could even market this to the physical rehabilitation community. However, things went sour soon afterwards. I went for a car drive and the top of the Italian Ice container exploded. Italian Ice, my favorite dessert other than cookies, spilled all up and down my back in a sticky mess. "Note to self," I thought, "Ice Pops don't make good Ice Packs." This is a cold but true story of lost snackery. If it's any consolation, I made every effort to eat what little remained of that Italian Ice.
Italian Ice Pop Pain Relief comic is ink pens on 3 pieces of 3.5" x 5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2007, colored by Denise Chiappetta.
Coming in at a close second place for weird pain relief escapades, was the year I spent upside down in hopes of becoming rehabilitated. Since I use the term "rehabilitation" frequently, let's first define it before I explain how and even why I would want to be upside down so much. Rehabilitation is moving from a status of inadequacy to a status of adequacy. I realize this might not sound politically correct, but for someone who has gone through physical rehabilitation successfully, comparing my before rehab state of existence to my after rehab status, this is a most appropriate definition. For me it was like night and day.
A Rocking Definition of Rehabilitation comic is ink pens on 8.5" x 5.5 paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Done right, rehabilitation is about accomplishing goals that recover as much personal freedom, survival skills, and community involvement as possible. All in the name of rehabilitation, my chiropractor, who turned out to be no help to me at all, suggested I get an inversion table and hang upside down on it a few times a day. The theory was that this would pull apart the compressed discs in my spine and give me some much needed relief.
In no time at all, my loyal friend Roger Parlour picked up this monstrous device for me at Walmart and even assembled it. That is what friends are for--to help you turn your life around--literally. Consequently, for over a year, the inversion table took up a ridiculous amount of space in our bedroom--just ask my wife who patiently put up with all this. Every morning and evening I would strap my feet in position, lie back on the table and let the device spin me over with my head just inches from the floor. I would feel instant pain relief as my entire body slowly decompressed while hanging from my feet. However, a person can't stay in this position for more than a minute. All the blood goes to your head and so you get quite nauseous. That said, I became a real pro at it, working up a tolerance so that I could hang upside down for four minutes at a time without any ill affects.
Inversion Table Hang Out comic is ink pen on 11" x 8.5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
From my inversion table, I would deliver all sorts of corny jokes. A favorite was, "Does anyone want to hang out with me?" Another classic cornball statement from the inversion table was me saying, "I'm not upside down. You are!"
Not Upside Down comic by Joe Chiappetta 2007 is ink pens and markers on 3.5" x 4.5" paper, edited in Adobe Illustrator.
Embarrassing as it is to admit, this $250 device never actually healed me. I think my kids got the most fun out of it. I would strap in, then hold them tight and swing upside down with them, one at a time, for "safety's" sake. We would yell and scream as if falling down a great cliff on a strange adventure. I may have been disabled, but at least the kids got plenty of carnival rides out of the deal.
I discovered a few great lessons from having the inversion table. My wife loves an uncluttered bedroom. I learned that from how grateful she was when we finally got rid of the device by selling it on the Internet. I also learned that Roger, the man who set me up with the device, was a true friend. He wasn't the one who advised me to get such a contraption, but he knew, because of my back, that I physically could not go to the store, lift the device, and carry it home. That's what Roger did. He's a loyal friend, and loyalty from him and people like him continue to turn my world right side up.
Chapter 4: How Many Disabilities Do I Really Got?
There are so many great songs about loyalty. Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, I recall a song by Sonny and Cher that breaks my heart every time I hear it. The song, "I've Got You Babe," is all about loyalty and reliance on each other. Listening to such a tune, you'd be certain that as they took turns singing their parts, this couple could never be shaken apart. However, when you note the reality of the people behind the song--that they actually got divorced in real life--it's quite tragic. Sonny and Cher don't have each other any more. Conflict in their life tore them apart.
Whether it's relationship issues, or disability issues, both come with conflict. I have found that the best way to rescue any situation involving conflict must involve prayer. My friend Roger says it best; "If you want to resolve conflict, begin with prayer." It sounds quite powerful coming from this old buddy of mine, not just because he walks the walk, but also because he looks like Moses.
Roger or Moses comic is a digital drawing on iPAQ Pocket PC, edited in Adobe Illustrator by Joe Chiappetta 2011.
Sounding conflict-free, the Sonny and Cher song, "I've Got You Babe," is still lovely many decades after it has been written. However, for those two singers, the song is not at all true for them anymore. The couple behind the tune was quite excellent at communicating the intense emotions that are bound up in a close relationship. Yet artistic statement of unfailing loyalty is not the same as actual loyalty. Until a relationship is tested, you don't really know what it is made of. The same can be said with the onset of a disability. It will test every relationship you have. With the rise of my own back injury, I have discovered that the more disruptive to life-patterns that a disability becomes, the more that person's relationships get tested.
This is a hot topic for me, because I have lost relationships over disability issues, and current relationships can be strained and stretched in the process. Case in point, a few years ago, my wife, Denise, and I were having an argument at the Brookfield Zoo. I'm sure I was not on my best behavior due to the constant irritation and distraction of back pain, and I would often come across as tired or no-fun. This was a shame since my wife and I got into the park for free that day.
Set on making things better, I said to my wife, "Look, my back is killing me. But we are not going to leave until you get happy. I am determined."
Denise paused for a moment, looked at me, laughed and said, "I love you."
Just after this happened, Denise said, "You have to do a comic about this." Here we have a true story of zoological romance almost derailed by my disability. Denise loves to tell this story because our wild determination not to give up is the very element that makes our marriage so resilient.
Not a Quitter comic is a colored ink drawing on 4.5" x 3.5" paper by Joe Chiappetta 2007.
Admitting that my reaction to chronic pain has often been a hindrance in my marriage is completely uncomfortable and embarrassing. Emotionally, it's safer to look at disability from the perspective of two tulips. What's not to like about tulips? They are one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring, and they resurrect the next year. But these fine flowers are not without their problems. Once I saw two tulips growing in the city. The tulip growing straight up addressed the tulip leaning on an angle and said, "You should see a chiropractor about that."
Leaning Tulips comic is a color ink pen drawing on 3.5" x 4.5" paper, by Joe Chiappetta 2007.
Multiple people have suggested that I see a chiropractor over the years. But only a handful would go that extra mile, come to my house, and pick me up so I could lay in their back seat pain-free while they drove me to where I needed to be. You see, my injury wouldn't allow me to sit for more than a few minutes without extreme discomfort. Those few who opened their back seat to me are my real friends. As Sonny and Cher sang with such passion, "I got you, won't let go... I got you to understand." Moreover, my true friends could not only sing it, but they also live it. That's loyalty. They've "got" me, babe.
If only I could sit without pain and not be such a burden to these good friends and family members. It became routine for me while driving alone and thinking about how my back was killing me to ask, "Why can't they make cars where you drive while standing up?"
Suffering Car Designer comic is a digital drawing on iPAQ Pocket PC edited in Adobe Illustrator by Joe Chiappetta 2011.