Family Chiropractic

07/30/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

I find myself in a bit of a bind—literally. While heroically lifting a case of adult beverages (purely for hydration purposes, of course), I managed to tweak my back. The real injury, however, would come from telling my wife the truth. I’d never hear the end of it.

So I’m sticking with the story that my back hurts from carrying around all this handsomeness. Please don’t blow my cover.

Can you help a guy out? Preferably before I have to lift anything else… like my pride.

Sincerely,
Injured but Dignified

Dear Injured but Dignified,

Ah yes, the classic “handsomeness strain”—a condition we see quite often, especially in cases involving weekend warrior lifting and covert beverage logistics. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. HIPAA protects bad decisions too.

Let’s get you in, adjusted, and back to lifting things that matter (like your ego). We’ll even help you walk upright again so your story is more believable.

Call the office—we’ve got an ice pack and a straight face waiting for you.

Stay handsome,
Dr. Aaron

07/26/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

My beautiful mom came to visit, and like the devoted son I am, I helped her bring her things into the house. In a noble (and very manly) gesture, I grabbed her purse—because it’s Mom, of course. What I didn’t anticipate was the sheer, spine-compressing weight of that deceptively dainty handbag. Somewhere between the front door and the kitchen, I felt something in my back go pop, and not in a festive way.

Can you help me?

Thank you in advance,

Son of Steel, Back of Glass

Dear “Son of Steel, Back of Glass,”

Ah yes, the classic Mom Purse Injury. A tale as old as time — deceptively small on the outside, yet containing the weight of a neutron star inside. Between the 8 lbs of quarters, mystery hard candies, 3 bottles of lotion, a flashlight, and what may or may not be a brick from 1982… you didn’t stand a chance.

Absolutely, I can help. Whether it’s a heroic miscalculation or a purse-related trauma, we take all kinds of back injuries seriously. Give the office a call — we’ll get you moving again, and maybe even recommend a spotter next time you handle that handbag.

PS: Carrying your mom’s purse is manly. Getting taken down by it? Even more legendary.

— Dr. Aaron

07/17/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

I’ve really gotten myself into a pickle. After five months of relentless begging, negotiating, and a few promises I probably can’t keep, my wife finally gave in and let me buy a new-to-me boat—not just any boat, but a fast boat. We took it out for the first time, and wow, it was everything I hoped for. We cruised the lake, stopped at a restaurant, and for the first time, I felt like I truly belonged among the sleek, powerful boats lined up at the dock.

After our meal, I was feeling pretty proud of myself—great boat, great food, and my wife even seemed to be having fun. Wanting to keep that momentum going (and maybe earn a few more brownie points), I idled through the no wake zone, eyeing that magical moment just beyond—the point where it’s finally “clear to race.” In my head, I was a Shootout legend. I eased the throttle forward, and the boat responded with a roar. It was glorious.

As I soaked in the moment, wind in my hair, engine purring like a lion, I noticed the other boaters were waving at me. At first, I thought they were impressed—maybe even a little jealous. I imagined them saying, “There goes a man who knows how to live.”

Then I turned to my beautiful bride to share in my triumph… and she wasn’t there.

For a moment, time froze. I had a vivid memory of her stepping on the boat. I even remember her untying the rear line. So where was she now? That’s when it hit me.

The boaters weren’t waving in admiration—they were trying to alert me that my wife was still back at the end of the idle zone. Yep. In the water. Right where I left her. I went fast, and she… well, she stayed exactly where I’d last seen her—floating.

So now I’m doing some damage control. She’s sore, understandably salty, and not exactly in a “fast boat mood.” I figured maybe a chiropractic adjustment could help loosen things up—physically and emotionally. You work miracles, Dr. Aaron… think you can help me with this one?

P.S. I’m now looking into getting her a nice life vest, some roses, and possibly a jet ski… so she can catch up next time.

Dear “Fast but Forgetful,”

What a ride—and I don’t mean the boat. You successfully turned your wife into a floating buoy at the No Wake Zone line, and I imagine your dreams of future fast-boat adventures hit idle real quick after that splashdown. Let this be a lesson: horsepower doesn’t mean anything if you forget the most important passenger on board.

That said, miracles do happen—and nothing says “I’m sorry” like an apology and a chiropractic adjustment. If she’s sore from her surprise swim or just needs a little TLC (tender loving crack), we’re here for her. In fact, bring her in for an adjustment on you—and maybe I’ll throw in one for you too, for whiplash from turning your head so fast when you realized she was gone.

Call the office. Let’s help realign her spine and your marriage.

Sincerely,

Dr. Aaron

P.S. You’re lucky she didn’t have the keys to your boat and your truck.

07/09/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

5th of July Float Trip from Hell.

The canoe got stuck on a rock, we were run over by a party raft full of people who definitely didn’t notice, tossed into swift water, bounced off sharp rocks, and came out the other side looking like we’d lost a fight with a cheese grater. We’re stiff, sore, bruised, cut, and fried to a crisp. Please help. Also, we think one of us may have lost a flip-flop and a little dignity.

— Sincerely,

Sunburnt, Soaked, and Slightly Traumatized

Dear Sunburnt, Soaked, and Slightly Traumatized

That’s not a float trip… that’s a full body exfoliation with bonus trauma.

Call the office. We’ve got ice, alignments, and aloe.

We’ll help you feel human again—flip-flop not included. 🩴

Always here for you,

Dr. Aaron

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07/01/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

I’m upset, stiff, and a little salty—literally and emotionally. My wife is almost perfect… almost.

We were out enjoying a flawless day in our new-to-us vintage boat. The sun was shining, the lake was sparkling, and life was good. When it was time to head home, the plan was simple: ease up to the dock, drop off my wife so she could get the truck and trailer, and I’d handle the rest.

But nooooooo, she insisted I back in the trailer because “too many people were watching.” She didn’t want to be embarrassed. So, I reluctantly handed over the controls like a good husband and got ready to jump onto the dock.

I calmly briefed her: shift to neutral, then reverse if needed to fight the wind. I heard a soft, concerned “uuuuuuhhhhh…” and then—BAM—we lurched forward like a torpedo aimed at my dignity. I’m not sure if she zigged, zagged, or briefly reenacted a Fast & Furious scene, but I now understand whiplash on a spiritual level.

I can’t turn my head. The internet says it’s possibly a disease from the Congo. I think it’s more likely boat-related betrayal.

Please help. I need relief… and maybe a prescription ordering my wife to give me neck rubs for life.

Sincerely,

Boated and Busted Absolutely!

Dear Boated and Busted,

First things first: Ice, ice baby! 🧊🧊

What you’re describing sounds like a textbook case of “dockside whiplash meets marital boat miscommunication syndrome.” Don’t worry—you are not the first, and you won’t be the last. But that doesn’t mean you should suffer!

Call the office now—we’ll get you taken care of. You need proper treatment, not an internet diagnosis involving jungle diseases. And as for that lifetime neck rub prescription? Let’s just say… I can strongly recommend it as part of your home care plan. 😏

Looking forward to getting your neck (and pride) realigned,

Dr. Aaron

📞 Call today. We’ve got you covered—on land and sea.

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06/25/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

My pets are ruining my life!! My dog watched how I get ice cubes from the front of the refrigerator…. And learned he can get as many icy treats as he wants. My husband hates my cat so I cannot tell him what really happened. My cat knocked the salad oil off the counter he is not allowed to be on, it spilled in the same location as a missed Ice cube from my dog. While retrieving cream for my coffee, my trusty 12 year old slippers did just that, slipped! My hip is all kinds of out of whack, I am struggling to walk can you help and forget about the cat part?

Osage Beach Cat Lover

Dear “Osage Beach Cat Lover (but let’s keep that between us),”

I see what’s going on here: a full-blown animal conspiracy. One furball mastering the fridge like he’s training for Top Chef: Canine Edition, and the other staging covert oil slicks like he’s auditioning for Home Alone: Feline Trap Edition.

While I can’t promise to keep your cat’s criminal record sealed forever, I can help with your hip. Slippers + oil + rogue ice cubes = a perfect storm, and it sounds like your body took the brunt of it.

Come see me. I’ll get you realigned, walking better, and perhaps we can brainstorm ways to cat-proof your kitchen (or at least improve the alibi). Call the office and we’ll schedule you in—just don’t bring the cat unless he’s planning to apologize.

Yours in animal-related mystery injuries,

Dr. Aaron

P.S. We don’t judge pet drama. We treat it.

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06/17/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

I am beyond embarrassed. I was multitasking like a modern-day marvel—curling my hair AND scrolling through cat videos. All was well until one particularly acrobatic feline made me laugh-snort mid-curl… and then the smell hit. 🔥👃

In my panic to rescue my now slightly crunchy hair, I dropped my phone. The phone ricocheted off my Stanley mug, launched a tidal wave of hot coffee onto my feet, and turned my bathroom into a slip ’n slide. 🐱📱➡️☕💦🦶

Now my back hurts, my pride is bruised, and I cannot—I repeat—cannot let my husband know. He’s been warning me about my “curl-scroll-coffee chaos” for months. I plan to tell him I hurt my back doing something noble and mysterious. Please back me up with a medical alibi. 😅

Sincerely,

“Definitely Not Burnt, Slippery, or Busted”

P.S. Can I get an appointment before my next caffeine-induced disaster? 🙃

Dear “Definitely Not Burnt, Slippery or Busted,”

Your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ll mark it in the chart as “injured while rescuing endangered wildlife from a bathroom flood”—very heroic. 🦸‍♀️🛁

Back pain from multitasking misadventures is more common than you’d think, especially when high-performance mugs, rogue curling irons, and hyperactive cats are involved. You’ve essentially described the Bermuda Triangle of home hazards. 🔺🔥📱☕

Let’s get you in, get you straightened out, and restore your ability to scroll safely. And no worries—when your husband asks, I’ll nod solemnly and say, “It was the laundry basket. Classic case.”

Call the office. We’ll get you patched up and protected from future feline-related fiascos.

Yours in discretion and spinal alignment,

Dr. Aaron



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06/04/2025

Dear Dr. Aaron,

It finally happened! While trying to dodge the raindrops here in Osage Beach, I stepped into a hole hidden beneath some overflowing water—turns out, hips really don’t lie.

I don’t currently have insurance and was wondering if you’re accepting new patients. If so, I’d appreciate any information about options available for someone in my situation.

Sincerely,

Not Shakira in Osage Beach

P.S. I ruined my Hey Dudes…

Dear Shakira Wannabe,

I am accepting new patients, and self-pay is always welcome. Helping people heal, get back to work, and afford new shoes is one of my top priorities.

As for dodging raindrops—it’s a skill best left to agile kids and trained ninjas!

Give us a call to schedule your appointment. Looking forward to helping you get back on your feet (and out of puddles).

Best,

Dr. Aaron

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05/26/2025

05/25/2025

🚨 Public Service Announcement 🚨

From the fine (and occasionally slippery) folks of Lake of the Ozarks:

When it rains in the Ozarks, the ground gets wet.

When geese do their thing, the ground gets… treacherous.

But when it rains ON goose p**p—

You, dear friend, get a one-way ticket to Slip-and-Fall City. 🎟️🛬

It’s nature’s cruel prank:

One moment you’re strolling the lakeside,

The next—you’re impersonating a breakdancer with zero training and a pulled lower back.

Moral of the story?

💩 Goose p**p is sneaky.

🌧 Rain makes it slippier.

💥 Your spine didn’t ask for this.

📞 So call Dr. Aaron on Tuesday to schedule your chiropractic adjustment and get everything back where it belongs—especially you.

Stay upright, Lake of the Ozarks. Stay vigilant. Stay… p**p-aware.

🦢💦➡️🌀😵‍💫➡️📞👨‍⚕️

—This has been a slightly embarrassing but medically necessary public service announcement

05/20/2025

“Sock Saga: The Day My Back Betrayed Me”

Today started like any other. Birds chirping, sun shining, me, brimming with confidence as I reached down to put on my socks…

BIG MISTAKE.

Somewhere between heel and toe, my lower back decided it had had enough. I froze mid-sock like a poorly designed action figure, one foot in the air, pain shooting up like I was being tasered by my own spine.

Cue me, collapsing sideways like a slow-mo Jenga tower, still gripping the sock like it owed me money.

Enter: Dr. Aaron, my personal superhero/chiropractor/general wizard. With the precision of a ninja and the calm of a monk, he cracked, stretched, and recalibrated me back to semi-functioning human form.

Now I’m upright, walking like a baby deer on ice, but ALIVE.

Moral of the story:

Never underestimate socks.
Always stretch before battle.
Dr. Aaron is a legend.
I’m buying slip-ons.



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05/15/2025

“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 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.

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