“All chiropractors are quacks,” declared my college, health professor. One
punctuated statement. End of discussion. That was the first time I had heard
that word: “chiropractor.”

Sitting in the back row, I scanned my fellow students. Their heads were nodding
in agreement. Was I the only one who didn’t have a clue what the teacher was
talking about?

Leaving my mind behind (probably not the first time), the professor blasted
into his next topic.

Huh? Come again?

“Hold on. Wait a minute.” I thought to myself. “What’s a chiropractor?” I had no
idea what a “quack” was (except in relationship to ducks), much less a chiropractor.

Too embarrassed or too scared, probably both, to raise my hand, interrupt, and ask
a dumb question, I caved.

“Okay,” I mused to myself, “All chiropractors are quacks, whatever that means.”
After all, college professors are never wrong, irrefutable—at least to this naïve
(and dumb) 20-year-old.

The next moment snapped my wandering mind to attention!

“My chiropractor saved my life!”

A girl in the second row stood up (yes, she literally stood up), and boldly
proclaimed, “That’s not true. My chiropractor saved my life.”

To this day, I remember her name—Lynn.

The professor glared at her, opened his mouth, but no words fell out.
The room grew quiet, very quiet. How dare she thwart that mighty force
standing before us.

The Story. The Fall. The Solution.

“When I was 16,” Lynn ventured, “I was thrown from my horse.

I was badly hurt. I had terrible pain in my low back
and neck, bad headaches, too.

“I just kept getting worse. I was in so much pain that I missed a lot of school
and stopped most activities. The hardest part, I hurt too much to ride my horse.

“Finally, my parents heard about this different kind of doctor, a chiropractor,
and brought me to see him. He did what no medical doctor could do—he helped me.
I felt better right away. I continued to improve until all my pain was gone.

“If it weren’t for my chiropractor, I wouldn’t be sitting
in this classroom today.”

Lynn calmly sat down.

The NO-response Response.

And how did the professor respond? He didn’t. At least not with words.
He ignored Lynn’s comment, and her, and coldly launched into his soliloquy
that she so fearlessly interrupted.

My response? I would love to say that I believed Lynn, even clapped
enthusiastically. At the very least, my mind could have cracked open just a
bit, spurring me to scratch beneath the surface of that skewed declaration by one,
very biased teacher.

Regretfully, that’s not the case. Along with the other bobbing heads, I demurely
bobbed mine to the tune of that professor. Super-educated, experienced college
professor trumps 20-year-old student once again.

Still, the incident left me with an inkling of doubt. If the teacher spoke the truth,
how could Lynn have been helped by a . . . what-was-that-word again?
Oh! A “chiropractor”!
 

The Power of Truth.

After leaving that class, I never gave that word—chiropractor—another thought.
That is, not until two years later, when chiropractic crashed into my life.

However, that girl, that courageous, lone girl, lingered in my mind. She still does.
She could have easily chosen to do the comfortable—say nothing. Instead, she
chose to stand up for the truth, momentarily halting that know-it-all professor in his tracks.

Lynn taught me an invaluable, lifelong lesson that day.
Stand up for the truth. No matter what. Someone may be listening.
Someone may be helped. Someone’s life may be changed forever.

Like mine was.

A Seed Planted.

Unbeknown to me, that day a tiny seed of awareness was planted into my mind.
That seed grew, flourished, and ultimately changed the course of my life.

Six weeks after my undergraduate college graduation, I enrolled into Sherman College
of Chiropractic in Spartanburg, South Carolina. Four years later, I had earned my
degree as a Doctor of Chiropractic.

Forty-plus years later, here I am, as passionate as ever about
helping the “Lynns” in my practice reclaim their bodies, vitality,
and lives through chiropractic care and other health-boosting,
lifestyle choices.

In Gratitude.

Thank you, Lynn, wherever you are, for that momentous, pivotal moment when you
stood steel-strong for the truth. You sparked my lifelong flame for the invaluable,
distinctly unique, healthcare profession:

Chiropractic.

To this day, Professor of Health, I still don’t know what a quack is, except in
relationship to the sounds that ducks make: “Quack. Quack.”