Twice a week for the past five weeks, I’ve been going to physical therapy for my back. I’ll admit that when I first started, I didn’t think therapy would do much good for fused vertebrae and a bulging disc. I figured it was something I would just have to live with. Much to my surprise, though, therapy has been more beneficial than I ever expected.

That doesn’t mean there haven’t been a few setbacks.

This week alone, my back decided to remind me that it’s still in charge of this relationship. Apparently, I only get voting rights.

After church on Sunday, my kids and I went out to eat. The restaurant seated us in a booth with one of the strangest backrests I’ve ever encountered. Whoever designed it must have based it on someone who had never actually sat down before.

Within a few minutes, I knew it wasn’t going to work. My back was getting more uncomfortable by the second, so I finally excused myself and headed out to my truck to do some stretching.

Apparently, seeing a grown man bent, twisted, and stretched out in a restaurant parking lot gets people’s attention. Several patrons stopped to ask if I needed medical assistance. I appreciated their concern, but thankfully, all I needed was for my back to quit throwing its little temper tantrum.

The very next day, I went fishing with my friend Rick. Before we launched, I warned him that I probably wouldn’t make it through a full day on the water. My plan was to fish until about 11:30 a.m., giving us roughly five hours before heading home.

Well…my back had already looked at my schedule and crossed that out.

By 10:30, it was screaming, “We’re done!” Loud enough that I didn’t feel the need to argue. I paddled back to the launch, unloaded my gear, and before loading my kayak into the truck, I stretched out flat on my back across the tailgate for about ten minutes.

If anyone drove by, they probably thought I was either taking a nap or waiting for the coroner. Thankfully, neither was true.

That little break settled my back down enough for me to finish loading everything. Rick finally made it back around noon. He was fortunate I’d taken those few minutes to recover because otherwise he would have been loading all of his gear by himself. As much as I enjoy fishing with him, I was ready to get home and put some heat on my back.

When I told my physical therapist about both incidents yesterday, she decided to extend my therapy for another couple of weeks. Her goal is to add some exercises specifically designed to help reduce the pain I experience while fishing.

Normally, I probably would have complained about having to continue therapy longer than expected. But in this case, I’ll let it slide. After all, if a few more therapy sessions help me spend a few more hours fishing, that’s a trade I’m willing to make.

She also suggested replacing the seat in my kayak with one that offers better lumbar support. I’ve already started looking at a few options, and I’m planning to show her what I’ve found during tomorrow’s appointment. Who knew shopping for kayak seats would become part of my medical treatment?

If there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it’s that progress isn’t always a straight line. There are good days and bad days, victories and setbacks. But each week I’m seeing small improvements that remind me I’m moving in the right direction.

My back may still think it’s the boss, but physical therapy is slowly teaching it that it’s about to lose some of its authority.