This Is [Nearly] 30: Fixing the biggest problem you've never had

THE bed needs making but you just ... can't. Your back is out. Great. Do you call a GP? How will you work? Do you need surgery? Ugh. It's like being stuck in Woody Allen's head.

One advantage of a back operation: bed goes up, bed goes down.

THE bed needs making but you just ... you just can't.

You're not lazy. You're very - VERY - handy with refitting the sheets of a morning before you go to work. It's probably top five on your list of can-do traits.

But, as it turns out, a task as simple and as innocuous as making one's bed requires a serious amount of back.

Which is a problem. You see, when you woke up at 3.25am it wasn't simply to admire the pre-dawn glow of the moon peeking through the blinds (note to self: buy duct tape; block out moon). No. It was to come to the realisation that your back, in its purest form, ceased to exist.

You don't struggle with chronic back pain like a few of your friends do, so you're shocked to learn how instrumental it is in doing or achieving things. Lying down hurts. Side is worse than back, but let's be honest: sleep is not going to happen right now. Then there's walking - a struggle. Sitting feels weird. Even thinking is more difficult than it was pre-injury.

I'm going to see an orthopaedist about what you did to my back.

Then there's the myriad dull, monotonous, everyday tasks that are no longer possible. Or barely possible. Who knew your back was a prerequisite for showering, walking and feeding ungrateful pets?

Now. Back to the bed. When you have to execute a perfect-to-form Olympic squat in order to fold the top sheet into the corner of the mattress, you've got problems.

What will you do? Is this something the doctor can fix? Is this a paracetamol issue? Would a chiropractor or a physiotherapist be more suited to recalibrating your core? Is it, god, is it in your head? Do you need psychotherapy? Is there someone in your family in Brisbane who's secretly got a crook back, and you've suddenly developed a sympathy injury? Is that even possible? Is it about to rain? Because you read that a drop in atmospheric pressure can cause back pain? Are you going through another growth spurt? Can you? At 27?

Two things immediately become clear:

1) Get some painkillers into you;

2) Clearly, a spot of therapy couldn't hurt, really.

On your slow hobble into the office, clutching a big, red cushion, you start to think about all of the simple things in everyday life you take for granted, that wouldn't be possible - or would at least be a bloody task - without the full use of aforementioned back.

Then you start thinking big picture: what about all of the things you've been anticipating doing this summer, for which you'll need to be in, at the very least, serviceable condition? If this whole back thing doesn't work out, then, what? You'll just sit/lie (whichever hurts less) around the house until it's cold again? How will you surf gnarly waves? Learn to climb rocks? Carry things, manly things, like bags of soil?

Well, surfing's out. And probably bank-robbing, too.

And let's face it. You'll probably need surgery. If it's a herniated disc you'll require special leave from work. That's a bundle of paperwork and (you hazard a guess) a minimum of, what, four meetings with HR? There'll be rehab. A new mattress. Crutches. A live-in nurse. This thing is going to cost thousands of dollars. How are you going to pay for your back troubles AND afford to maintain a Spotify subscription?

One advantage of a back operation: bed goes up, bed goes down.

But. Hang on a moment. You're at work. You've had two coffees, another round of drugs, and, actually, your back feels pretty good. In fact it's fine. Totally fine. Painless. A false alarm. None of those cerebrally warped scenarios mean a thing. Not a damn thing. All that overthinking. Ugh. It's so tiring. For what. What did it get you?

Well, it did get you one thing: a big, red, sexually ambiguous cushion for your office chair.

What no n-problems do you spend hours upon hours overthinking? Drop @christoforpaine a line on Twitter. He's still trying to figure out how he got there.