Lessons from My Back Injury: The Professionals Who Got It Right (and Wrong)
When I injured my back in late October, I thought I was well-prepared. I’d read Stuart McGill and Peter O’Sullivan. I knew about pain avoidance cycles, nociception, and the typical recovery rates following an acute back injury. I also knew the warning signs for Cauda Equina Syndrome (CES):
Persistent and worsening pain, often radiating down one or both legs.
Saddle Anesthesia: Numbness or tingling in areas that would come into contact with a saddle, including the inner thighs, buttocks, and perineum.
Bowel or Bladder Dysfunction.
Leg Weakness: Difficulty walking, muscle weakness, or loss of sensation in one or both legs.
Sexual Dysfunction: Loss of sensation or difficulty with sexual function, often associated with pelvic numbness.
Thankfully, I didn’t have any of these symptoms. I couldn’t walk, move my back, or perform basic daily activities due to pain, immobility, and protective muscle tightness, but I knew I’d likely recover in a few weeks.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how many people presenting themselves as medical professionals hadn’t kept up with back pain research.
My First Physio Experience: What Not to Do
Not wanting to bother the NHS, I went to a local physio for a loose diagnosis and prognosis—essentially, I wanted permission to keep moving. Instead, I got an outdated and uninformed approach to care.
They didn’t ask me many questions or seem interested in understanding my situation.
They told me to do some generic ab exercises and buy a yoga ball—recommendations that felt plucked from the 2000s.
They didn’t even mention the McGill Big 3, which, while not necessarily the right solution for me, is a common starting point in discussions about back pain.
To make matters worse, they attempted manual manipulation while I was in severe pain, which I felt was irresponsible. A second therapist joined, also without asking me any meaningful questions. When I struggled to stand due to pain, they became frustrated, forced a few wall glides to "straighten out my back," and sent me on my way after upselling me on a private clinic.
I tried a few of their suggested exercises, even though I knew they weren’t suitable for my condition. I left feeling disempowered. My observations were dismissed, and I didn’t even get the diagnosis I was seeking. That encounter was a low point—I felt less equipped to manage my pain than before I’d gone in.
Finding the Right Help
As the pain worsened and I reached the point of being unable to stand or walk, I finally called 111 and spoke with an excellent GP. This experience was a stark contrast.
The GP listened carefully to my symptoms and concerns.
She prescribed a three-day course of anti-spasmodics, which finally allowed my muscles to relax enough for me to move again.
I also found an experienced McKenzie practitioner nearby, who prioritized my case and saw me within a few days. I was initially skeptical, expecting generic McKenzie extensions, but the session exceeded my expectations.
The practitioner took the time to listen and truly understand my pain.
They avoided forcing me into painful positions and demonstrated a depth of knowledge that went beyond memorized exercises.
Most importantly, they reassured me, helped ease my fears, and gave me a clear plan for the weeks ahead.
Pain, Fear, and the Recovery Journey
Pain is a strange thing. You can know intellectually that you’ll get better, but in the moment, it feels like you’ll never move again. This vulnerability makes it easy to fall prey to false promises—gadgets, miracle treatments, or overpriced programs targeting people desperate for relief.
The key is not to fall into that hole. Instead, seek out tools and professionals that genuinely work for you.
This experience has been an eye-opener—not just about back pain, but about the quality of care and advice available. If you’re dealing with a similar injury, my advice is to stay patient, keep moving as much as you can, and focus on finding the right support. You’ll get there.
