Low Back Pain Quotes

Did you know the following surprising facts? "Surgery has been found to be helpful in only 1 in 100 cases of low back pain. ~ Fred Amir

The direct and indirect medical costs of low-back pain (LBP) are staggering. In 1991 it was reported that these costs equaled somewhere between $50 and $100 billion per year in the United States, with more recent studies showing these costs increasing. ~ Whitney W. Lowe

Look after your body and your body will look after you ~ Paul Boxcer

Kuslich SD, Ulstrom CL, Michael CJ. The tissue origin of low back pain and sciatica: a report of pain response to tissue stimulation during operations on the lumbar spine using local anesthesia. Orthop Clin North Am. 1991;22(2):181 ~ Timothy R. Deer

Howard had a pine display case, fastened by fake leather straps and stained to look like walnut. Inside, on fake velvet, were cheap gold-plated earrings and pendants of semiprecious stones. He opened this case for haggard country wives when their husbands were off chopping trees or reaping the back acres. He showed them the same half-dozen pieces every year the last time he came around, when he thought, This is the season - preserving done, woodpile high, north wind up and getting cold, night showing up earlier every day, dark and ice pressing down from the north, down on the raw wood of their cabins, on the rough-cut rafters that sag and sometimes snap from the weight of the dark and the ice, burying families in their sleep, the dark and the ice and sometimes the red in the sky through trees: the heartbreak of a cold sun. He thought, Buy the pendant, sneak it into your hand from the folds of your dress and let the low light of the fire lap at it late at night as you wait for the roof to give out or your will to snap and the ice to be too thick to chop through with the ax as you stand in your husband's boots on the frozen lake at midnight, the dry hack of the blade on ice so tiny under the wheeling and frozen stars, the soundproof lid of heaven, that your husband would never stir from his sleep in the cabin across the ice, would never hear and come running, half-frozen, in only his union suit, to save you from chopping a hole in the ice and sliding into it as if it were a blu ~ Paul Harding

Pain that is not acknowledged, talked about, shared even, doesn't ever go away. It hides for awhile and then comes back in a different form. ~ Francisco X Stork

Come on, she's gorgeous. Guys in Richmond would be drooling right now."

Joe's brows shot up, and he turned as if expecting to see someone new behind him. "Sid?"

"You'd have to be a eunuch not to see that."

Joe looked insulted by that insinuation.

"You know what I mean. Who is she anyway?"

"She's my boat mechanic. A pain in the ass, but she can fix anything you put in front of her."

Beth couldn't respond. She'd need to lift her jaw off the floor to do that.

"What?" Joe asked, looking perplexed again.

"That is your boat mechanic? You work with a woman Hugh Hefner would pay a million bucks for, yet you claim not to notice she's the slightest bit attractive?" Beth pulled the tray to her now inferior-feeling chest and wrapped her arms around it. "Is that why you're so cranky all the time?"

Joe's mouth clamped shut and his eyes narrowed. "You're out of your mind. Sid isn't…" He trailed off as he looked again to the woman in question and got a straight shot of a well-shaped bottom. "You're nuts," he said, stomping out of the room. Before Beth could follow behind him, he leaned back in to yell, "And I'm not cranky! ~ Terri Osburn

And I did it for Him and He loves them. He betrayed us! Do you know why they get to come back from the dead to slaughter more and more of us? I thought it was some demon's trick. That maybe we could fix that, too, or instead if our first mission failed." Now she's laughing at herself, at her naivety. "But He did it. Because He loves them. He loves the demons. He still loves them! After they sold their souls, after they've tortured the Templars and Beacons, and countless random innocents, He still loves them! He wants to give them time to change their minds before they're committed to hell. He wants to give those murdering bastards the ability to be redeemed. They slaughtered my family, bathed in the blood of my friends, and He still loves them." She looks at me and I see in her expression so much pain, so much bitterness, so much rage that I would have stepped back, had the demons not been holding me in place. The darkness that has taken over her personality since she became a demon becomes suddenly clear. After everything she has sacrificed to His cause she can't understand how He can forgive her enemies.

But I do.

I do and it hits me with the force of a train. ~ Eliza Crewe

Even short commutes stab at your happiness. According to the research,* commuting is associated with an increased risk of obesity, insomnia, stress, neck and back pain, high blood pressure, and other stress-related ills such as heart attacks and depression, and even divorce. But let's say we ignore the overwhelming evidence that commuting doesn't do a body good. Pretend it isn't bad for the environment either. Let ~ Jason Fried

Hell, he could talk himself into taking the pain, twenty more years of it, just so he could have it back. Even if it was only for a day. ~ Kristen Ashley

It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind numbed our faces on one side; disrupted the formation of a lone flight of Canada geese; and blew back the low, inaudible rollers in upright, steely mist. ~ Elizabeth Bishop

Hi." I caught a flash of his smile as he bent to kiss me. His lips were warm and his kiss was sweet. Gentle. He only deepened the kiss a little while his hand slid into my hair and his other hand curved into the small of my back.

I smiled as he pulled away. "Hi."

"That's better." He cupped my cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. "I've missed you since yesterday. Is that weird? Does that make me one of those stalker guys?"

"Only if you follow me home. Cut off a lock of my hair while I sleep. Something like that."

"I thought I'd save that for next weekend." He bent to kiss me again but swerved at the last second to brush his lips against my cheek instead. "I have a theory about you, Emily Parker."

"You do?"

"I do." Another kiss on my cheek, and then his teeth grazed my earlobe, and I shivered. "I don't think you've ever been wooed. Have you?" The words were a low whisper in my ear, and the shiver intensified.

"Wooed?" The word felt strange in my mouth.

"Wooed," he repeated, punctuating the word with a kiss on my other cheek. "Courted. Swept off your feet. Had someone show you how you make him feel."

"I . . . I can't say that I have." That was an understatement.

"Then brace yourself." He straightened up and backed away from me a step or two. "I'm going to woo your ass off. ~ Jen DeLuca

In the dead of night I stirred. Wakefulness flowed back into me. I was a cup full of sorrow, but that sorrow was stilled, like a pain that abates as long as one does not move. ~ Robin Hobb

Back in the '80s and '90s, you could hit the quarterback low, you could hit the quarterback high. You could hit him pretty much late. ~ Vinny Testaverde

Oh, go right ahead,' she replied. 'You seem to have such an affinity for canines.'
'Clearly,' he shot back, keeping his voice low so that Mary could not hear, 'they are not so different from women. Both breeds hang on my every word. ~ Julia Quinn

The water rippled when he leaned in; he studied what he saw. Against a background of blue sky, there was his face, broad of forehead and overly long, and he was surprised at the new look of age on him. To everybody else, I must look ten years beyond twenty-seven, he thought, and it made him glad. Even had begun to fear gaps and what they might mean. Wide-spanning spaces between age and its weight of language and ability had begun to feel like easy reasons for saying good-bye. He saw inside the calm reflection a gull flying low over his head, braced by clouds drifting east toward Runnelstown.
Turning back, he walked north around moss-based trees and finally found her digging wild onions growing thick next to fern. With her back to him she said, "Tired does one of two things-either builds the soul or breaks the heart. Can't decide which it is right now. All I know is I'm tired. ~ Melinda Haynes

I don't want to...be like this," I whispered as I looked away, and once I said it, I didn't even want to take the words back. A weird sensation hit me, almost like...like relief. That didn't make sense. Or did it? "I don't like who I am."
My gaze returned to his, and the concern was still there, filling his hazel eyes and thinning out his mouth. Tears crawled up the back of my throat. Humiliating actually, to admit something so intimate like that, but now I wasn't the only one who knew this about myself. It wasn't my secret.
"It's okay. You're not going to feel that way forever." Rider smoothed his thumb along my jaw. I closed my eyes, wanting to believe him. Needing to. He kept his voice low as he spoke. "Nothing lasts forever, Mouse. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Now it is as if I remember my grief rather than experience it. I remember the pain I suffered as the memories washed over me where I sat on the deck that day. Now I have only the memories of my own feelings, not the feelings themselves. That day the feelings were still alive, the pain real. Now I look back and I can see every detail but I am not there, inside it. My own pain is now forever calcified. I carry it with me, but it is no longer alive. (10) ~ Linda Olsson

I can't live in the past, but the echoes of the past live on deep inside of the core of my being. I am learning to turn and face past experiences so that I may see them, touch them, feel them, bless them and finally own them. I am calling back the parts of myself that I abandoned when the pain was too strong and when life got 'too much'. I am accepting with Grace that my life is an exquisitely unique journey of mishap, magic and marvelous misadventure. ~ Kristin Granger

You say respect my elders, but what you mean is respecting my betters, is that not right? Are you so full of your own arrogance that you need me to bow and kowtow to you like some throwback fledgling? Or perhaps we should reinstate the role of concubines in our society. Then you may have the pleasure of claiming me and forcing me to fall to my knees, bowing low in respect of your masculine eminence!"
Gideon watched as she did just that, her gown billowing around her as she gracefully kneeled before him, so close to him that her knees touched the tips of his boots. She swept her hands to her sides, bowing her head until her forehead brushed the leather, her hair spilling like reams of heavy silk around his ankles.
The Ancient found himself unusually speechless, the strangest sensation creeping through him as he looked down at the exposed nape of her neck, the elegant line of her back. Unable to curb the impulse, Gideon lowered himself into a crouch, reaching beneath the cloak of coffee-colored hair to touch her flushed cheek. The heat of her anger radiated against his touch and he recognized it long before she turned her face up to him.
"Does this satisfy you, my lord Gideon?" she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing like flinted steel and hard jade.
Gideon found himself searching her face intently, his eyes roaming over the high, aristocratic curves of her cheekbones, the amazingly full sculpture of her lips, the wide, accusing eyes that lay behind extrao ~ Jacquelyn Frank

If Death Is Kind
Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free. ~ Sara Teasdale

Niko started sobbing. There is no other word for it.
He just crumpled down over the legs of the dead soldier and sobbed.
I didn't know what to do. I sat down.
Sahalia went over and kind of rubbed Niko's back.
Batiste kept screaming for Josie.
Max was whimpering. He was in pain.
Ulysses climbed down from the tree and went and got Max's boot from where it got stuck under the root, and for a long while, that's all the movement there was.
Just fat Ulysses, trying to help his friend get his boot on. ~ Emmy Laybourne

Minho had gotten to his feet, and he came over to help Thomas stand. "My shuck brain can't spend one more second thinking. Just let her do whatever she wants. Come one."
"Good that," Thomas said. The two of them then looked at each other for a long moment, catching their breath, somehow reliving in those few seconds all the things they'd gone through, all the death, all the pain. And mixed in there was relief, that maybe – just maybe – it was all over.
But mostly Thomas felt the pain of loss. Watching Teresa die – to save his life – had been almost too much to bear. Now, staring at the person who'd become his true best friend, he had to fight back the tears. In that moment, he swore to never tell Minho about what he'd done to Newt.
"Good that for sure, shuck-face," Minho finally replied. But his trademark smirk was missing. Instead was a look that said to Thomas he understood. And that they'd both carry the sorrow of their loss for the rest of their lives. ~ James Dashner

Title 'Yikin heykellerimi'

->'Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me'

O nation
I am Kemal Mustafa
If my thoughts and beliefs are not of this day and age
If my wisdom isn't still the most authentic mentor
Then let my tongue cleave to the roof of my palate
I apoligize

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If freedom isn't still the supreme value
If you'd rather have slaves stay chained

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you see no sense in living a civilized life
If you want to be sent back in time to the middle ages and wish to put a crown on the head of a man who spits into the face of art

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If the pain of war violence was not enough
If peace at home, peace in the world has no meaning
If to be awarded requires an arms race

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you miss the fez and the veil and prefer to light the night
If you're still hoping to find healing from a dervish, a sheik or an amulet

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you say women should not be equal to men and should be covered in black sheets ~ Suleyman Apaydin

She's been around all my life and I've done nothing; stayed as far from her as I could because I don't like thinking about her pain. But that's chicken shit, because once a thing is known, it can't be unknown. He sits back and folds his hands ~ Chris Crutcher

Gage's low gruff voice whispered back. "Don't you get it by now? You carry my heart with you wherever you go. Whether you're right by my side or half a world away from me, you carry everything I am with you. So I need you to protect that by keeping yourself alive, because if you die, I die with you." - Gage ~ Jessie Lane

I assume my stance, and take back the club, low, slowly; at the top, my eyes fog over, and my joints dip and swirl like barn swallows, I swing. There is a fruitless commotion of dust and rubber at my feet. "Smothered it," I say promptly. After enough lessons the terminology becomes second nature. ~ John Updike

Hawks have a flying weight, just as boxers have a fighting weight. A hawk that's too fat, or high, has little interest in flying, and won't return to the falconer's call. Hawks too low are awful things: spare, unhappy, lacking the energy to fly with fire and style. Taking the hawk back onto my fist I feel for her breastbone with the bare fingers of my other hand. She is plump, her skin hot under her feathers, and through my fingertips I feel the beating of her nervous heart. I shiver. Draw my hand back. Superstition. I can't bear to feel that flickering sign of life, can't help but suspect that my attention might somehow make it stop. ~ Helen Macdonald

I was on a 747 flight out of Denver with four flight attendants on the plane. One of the flight attendants got off the plane to go check someone's carry-on bag in the cargo hold, and while she was gone, the door closed and we began to taxi out. While we were giving the demo, we looked out the window of the airplane to see the flight attendant running alongside the plane in the snow, waving and yelling and trying to catch up to us. 'Did you notice that we're missing someone?' I said to the other flight attendant. 'Yes, but try to keep it low-key - there's a supervisor on board!' Well, it's hard to keep it low-key when someone is running alongside your plane, waving and screaming. The plane stopped and the air stairs went down so she could get on board, and my co-worker said, 'Tell her to try to be inconspicuous when she gets back on.' Well, she had to walk the entire length of the plane to get back to her station, and everybody on board broke into applause. ~ Betty N. Thesky

Then the young men, streaming blood on their painted chests and backs, would stand and begin their dancing and chanting, leaning back from or toward the sacred tree so that their bodies were often suspended totally by the rawhide and horn under their muscles. And always they stared at the sun as they danced and chanted. Sometimes they danced the full two days. More often, they would dance and leap until the pain caused them to fall unconscious or - if they were lucky and Wakan Tanka smiled on them - until the rawhide and horn ripped through their powerful chest or back muscles and freed them. ~ Dan Simmons

Crutches may be a pain in the (pinched nerve back) ass to use, but damn, they are handy when your dog pushes open the bathroom door while you are contemplating life. They're also handy to turn on lights just out of your reach, and to threat your husband with if he doesn't fetch you a Fresca because you are a poor, pathetic little thing huddled under a Snuggy, unable to walk without bellowing profanities at the top of your lungs, thereby scaring your dogs, the fat squirrel stuffing his face on the deck, and the manic depressive goats that live three houses down. ~ Katie MacAlister

Chang-bo took to his bed, or rather to the quilts on the floor that was all they had left. His legs swelled up like balloons with what Mrs. Song had come to recognize as edema - fluid retention brought on by starvation. He talked incessantly about food. He spoke of the tofu soups his mother made him as a child and an unusually delicious meal of steamed crab with ginger that Mrs. Song had cooked for him when they were newlyweds. He had an uncanny ability to remember details of dishes she had cooked decades earlier. He was sweetly sentimental, even romantic, when he spoke about their meals together. He would take her hand in his own, his eyes wet and cloudy with the mist of his memories.
"Come, darling. Let's go to a good restaurant and order a nice bottle of wine," he told his wife one morning when they were stirring on the blankets. They hadn't eaten in three days. Mrs. Song looked at her husband with alarm, worried that he was hallucinating.
She ran out the door to the market, moving fast and forgetting all about the pain in her back. She was determined to steal, beg - whatever it took - to get some food for her husband. She spotted her older sister selling noodles. Her sister wasn't faring well - her skin was flaked just like Chang-bo's from malnutrition - so Mrs. Song had resisted asking her for help, but now she was desperate, and of course, her sister couldn't refuse.
"I'll pay you back," Mrs. Song promised as she ran back home, the adrenaline pu ~ Barbara Demick

Deep in the recesses of our mind is a trophy shelf on which sits many bottles. Each bottle contains the pain of a hurt that we have overcome and for which we have a scar - our badge of courage. Occasionally, a memory will knock the bottle off the shelf, the cork will come out and the pain is back. What we should notice each time this happens is that the pain is less intense, it takes less time to return it to the bottle and back onto the shelf and that our scar - our battle wound becomes stronger. ~ Susan Flusche

Archer seemed startled, and I realized they'd never actually met face to face. He took Elizabeth's hand and grazed the back of it with his lips. It made me want to change trajectory and hit him. "Lady Elizabeth. I'm honored." His tone was formal, thank God. If it had been low and growly I might have ended the Tudor line about forty years early. ~ April White

Chaos poked him again, and Blake welcomed the pain this time. This pain will remind me why I shouldn't find her.
Blake hated his weakness, but he let the pain transport him back to the clearing, to her face. He vowed it would be the last time, but he wanted to remember her noises and panting as he tasted her soft skin. She smelled like cinnamon.
Blake tried to see her face in his memory: trusting Livia, submitting to his hands and tongue. Instead he saw her pain as she told him she didn't see his skin turn to glass in the sun. She'd tried to hide her knowing.
Brave, beautiful Livia. She'd stood there waiting and never even flinched when he ran past. He could have plowed into her. Blake knew what it took to stay still when your mind screamed Run! A person had to find a place inside to die while things they didn't want happened to their body. ~ Debra Anastasia

She looked down at him, smiling with exasperated amusement. *Stubborn, snarly male.*

*Stubbornness is a much-maligned quality,* he panted as he climbed toward her. Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the land. Then he finally got a good look at her. He sank to his knees. *I owe you a debt, Lady.*

She shook her head. *The debt is mine, not yours.*

*I failed you,* he said bitterly, looking at her wasted body.

*No, Daemon,* Jaenelle replied softly. *I failed you. You asked me to heal the crystal chalice and return to the living world. And I did. But I don't think I ever forgave my body for being the instrument that was used to try to destroy me, and I became its cruelest torturer. For that I'm sorry because you treasured that part of me.*

*No, I treasured all of you. I love you, Witch. I always will. You're everything I'd dreamed you would be.*

She smiled at him. *And I - * She shuddered, pressed her hand against her chest. *Come. There's little time left.* She fled through the rocks, out of sight before he could move. He hurried after her, following the glittering trail, gasping as he felt a crushing weight descend on him. *Daemon.* Her voice came back to him, faint and pain-filled. *If the body is going to survive, I can't stay any longer.* He fought against the weight.

*Jaenelle!*

*You have to take this in slow stages. Rest there now. Rest, Daemon. I'll mark the trail for you. ~ Anne Bishop

The old white man didn't look into your eyes, he looked clear through your eyes, and straight to the inside of the back of your head. 'Instead of runnin from pain, which is the natural thing in life, in boxing you step to it, get me? ~ F.X. Toole

Believe me," Dr. Tamalet summed up, "if you wanted that operation in France, you could get it"

Which is, of course, the boon and the bane of France's health care system. It offers a maximum of free choice among skillful doctors and well-equipped hospitals, with little or not waiting, at bargain-basement prices [in out-of-pocket terms to the consumer]. It's a system that enables the French to live longer and healthier lives, with zero risk of financial loss due to illness. But somebody has to pay for all that high-quality, ready-when-you-need-it care--and the patients, so far, have not been willing to do so. As a result, the major health insurance funds are all operating at a deficit, and the costs of the health care system are increasing significantly faster than the economy as a whole. That's why the doctors keep striking and the sickness funds keep negotiating and the government keeps going back to the drawing board, with a new 'major health care reform' every few years. So far, the saving grace for France's system has been the high level of efficiency, as exemplified by the 'carte vitale,' that keeps administrative costs low--much lower than in the United States. ~ T.R. Reid

cab seat, which causes his leather jacket to creak uncomfortably. How long has it been? Sarah called a week ago last Friday. He's tired of sitting. His left leg has gone numb again and the occasional shooting pain in his lower back has grown into a ceaseless ~ Maruyama, Kate

[I] threw open the door to find Rob sit­ting on the low stool in front of my book­case, sur­round­ed by card­board box­es. He was seal­ing the last one up with tape and string. There were eight box­es - eight box­es of my books bound up and ready for the base­ment!

"He looked up and said, 'Hel­lo, dar­ling. Don't mind the mess, the care­tak­er said he'd help me car­ry these down to the base­ment.' He nod­ded to­wards my book­shelves and said, 'Don't they look won­der­ful?'

"Well, there were no words! I was too ap­palled to speak. Sid­ney, ev­ery sin­gle shelf - where my books had stood - was filled with ath­let­ic tro­phies: sil­ver cups, gold cups, blue rosettes, red rib­bons. There were awards for ev­ery game that could pos­si­bly be played with a wood­en ob­ject: crick­et bats, squash rac­quets, ten­nis rac­quets, oars, golf clubs, ping-​pong bats, bows and ar­rows, snook­er cues, lacrosse sticks, hock­ey sticks and po­lo mal­lets. There were stat­ues for ev­ery­thing a man could jump over, ei­ther by him­self or on a horse. Next came the framed cer­tificates - for shoot­ing the most birds on such and such a date, for First Place in run­ning races, for Last Man Stand­ing in some filthy tug of war against Scot­land.

"All I could do was scream, 'How dare you! What have you DONE?! Put my books back!'

"Well, that's how it start­ed. Even­tu­al­ly, I said some­thing to the ef­fect that I could nev­er mar­ry a man whose idea of blis ~ Annie Barrows

how come you're so ugly?"

"my life has hardly been pretty - the hospitals, the jails, the jobs, the women, the drinking. some of my critics claim that i have deliberately inflicted myself with pain. i wish that some of my critics had been along with me for the journey. it's true that i haven't always chosen easy situations but that's a hell of a long ways from saying that i leaped into the oven and locked the door. hangover, the electric needle, bad booze, bad women, madness in small rooms, starvation in the land of plenty, god knows how i got so ugly, i guess it just comes from being slugged and slugged again and again, and not going down, still trying to think, to feel, still trying to put the butterfly back together again…it's written a map on my face that nobody would ever want to hang on their wall.

sometimes i'll see myself somewhere…suddenly…say in a large mirror in a supermarket…eyes like little mean bugs…face scarred, twisted, yes, i look insane, demented, what a mess…spilled vomit of skin…yet, when i see the "handsome" men i think, my god my god, i'm glad i'm not them ~ Charles Bukowski

Am I a terrible person?" she whispered, more for her ears than for his. "Does this mean I am fallen?"
But he heard her, and his voice was hot and moist on the skin of her cheek.
"No."
He moved to her ear and made her listen more closely.
"No."
He traveled to her lips and forced her to swallow the word.
"No."
Kate felt her head fall back. His voice was low and seductive, and it almost made her feel like she'd been born for this moment.
"You're perfect," he whispered, his large hands moving urgently over her body, one settling on her waist and the other moving up toward the gentle swell of her breast. "Right here, right now, in this moment, in this garden, you're perfect."
-Kate & Anthony ~ Julia Quinn

That's the thing about falling. It doesn't go on indefinitely, and it rarely ends well . . . plunge, plummet, pain. Even if you get straight back up, even when you regain your footing, after the fall nothing is ever quite the same. ~ Kylie Ladd