In praise of chiropractors

What does the aging parent of a soon-to-be college student do after a day at freshman orientation?

Speed down I-25 from Greeley to Denver, scarcely able to flex my right knee to hold the accelerator steady at 80 MPH. What was the big hurry? Had to get that aching knee and its cracked lateral meniscus to the local chiropractor before his office shut down for the day. And I made that university to office drive in one hour and 10 minutes door to door.

Now Dr. Visentin, the capable if somewhat unusual chiropractor who practices next door to The Mozart Lounge whose patrons smoke out front on the sidewalk for want of an outdoor patio, is not going to fix my aging meniscus. There's no give-backs on damaged cartilage. He can and did, however, line up my knee as best it could be lined after I stumbled and jerked it into misalignment this a.m. as I rushed to get the incipient student out of his bed.

If it takes a village to keep a half-century-plus doctor on her toes, count Dr. V in my census.