Review: ‘Spine’ is a book that reminds us youthful mistakes usually come back to haunt us

That blunder haunts me. When I picked up a copy of “Spine” by John Patrick Higgins and quickly understood that this was a stream of consciousness memoir about his spinal injury and other agonies he has endured I really doubted I wanted to read it. Fortunately after a few pages I recognized the author has a warped somewhat gallows sense of humor which I found rather amusing.

Higgins is in his 50s now— in “Spine” he recounts some painful experiences he has had and the torturous medical interventions he has endured. Early on he has an appointment with a physiotherapist. He arrives at the appointment hung over after attending a book release party the previous evening.

He remembers: “I’d had a bad back. Agony at the base of my spine, like a belt of magma, sparking fireworks into my thighs. Everything was difficult. Getting out of bed was laborious, involving rolling first onto my hip, then slowly jack-knifing upward, before levering into the vertical, and feeling as if some tendril might snap at any moment, my legs falling uselessly to the floor, torso hovering in the air like a tailor’s dummy. Climbing out of the bath was an impossibility, and saw me lying in the tub, hairy and trapped as a spider.”

What a description. I could relate. He was far worse off than me, by golly, I could read this. The book is strewn with pop culture references, many of which went right over my head. He does offer us clarifications on some of those references at the end of the book.

He takes shots. He writes about some other spinal injury victims like the comedian Jerry Lewis who injured his back “doing a pratfall from a piano in Las Vegas in 1965.” He writes: “There’s nothing funny about Jerry’s back injury. So at least he’s consistent.” Ouch.

One of the most brutally hilarious sections in “Spine” is his long account of another injury he experienced. While helping his girlfriend move he tumbles down a staircase, suffering a spiral fracture of his kneecap. He sets up this funny moment: “On day nine, I finally asked the nurses what I could do about my constipation.”

I wish I had this book in Mexico. I might have passed up that final wave and lived much more happily ever after.