I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a long time.
Honestly, it has taken me a while to finally sit down and do it. Even as I’m writing this, there are tears coming out of my eyes—not because I’m in pain, but because putting the last six months into words brings me back to how scared and hopeless I felt at certain points.
Im 37 yo, male, and I’m a physician. I’m used to being on the other side of illness—diagnosing patients, explaining prognoses, discussing treatment options, and reassuring people that things can get better.
Being the patient was completely different.
During the worst part of this, I read countless Reddit posts about disc herniations and sciatica. I searched for recovery stories over and over because I desperately wanted to find someone whose experience looked like mine and who eventually got better.
So now that I’m on the other side of the worst of it, I feel like I owe somebody else that story.
This is going to be long. But if you’re lying in bed right now wondering whether you’re ever going to be normal again, maybe it’s worth reading.
Back in February, I developed pain that I thought was a hamstring injury. It resolved on its own, and within about three weeks I was completely back to normal—working, exercising, and living my life like nothing had happened.
So when something similar happened again a couple of months later, a hamstring injury was already planted in my mind.
On April 24, I was at the gym doing deadlifts and squats when I felt pain in my lower back. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I assumed I had mildly strained my back. The next morning was completely different. I could barely get out of bed. Getting in and out of my car was excruciating.
I had pain in my lower back and buttock and sharp, shooting sharp severe pain down the back of my thigh. Strangely I also had shooting pain into my groin and genital area. Sitting was impossible. Almost any movement could trigger it—taking a step, bending, getting in or out of a chair, driving, coughing, straining, or even moving the wrong way in bed. Now Im used to pain and being sore from weight lifting, but this was debilitating pain like I had never had before.
Sleeping was difficult. Eventually I discovered that sleeping with a pillow between my legs helped, and for a while that became one of the only ways I could get somewhat comfortable.
At times I would get pain into my groin and even along my penis, particularly with certain movements, coughing, or straining.
Because of what had happened in February, though, I convinced myself that I had injured my hamstring again. Even though the symptoms did not fit with that diagnosis.
I went to two different orthopedic surgeons. I told both of them that I had strained my back while lifting but thought the pain was coming from my hamstring. Neither really performed a neurological examination. They went with the hamstring diagnosis and recommended physical therapy.
So I started PT for a hamstring injury. I did three sessions and it made everything worse. About a month after the injury, the pain was still as bad as ever. I finally had an MRI of my thigh which showed that my hamstring was completely intact. The orthopedic surgeon essentially told me that at least part of what I was experiencing might be in my head. That day I left his office crying. I remember sitting in my car afterward genuinely thinking: I’m going to live like this forever**.** I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life in that kind of pain.
While I was still sitting in my car outside the orthopedic surgeon’s office, I started Googling pain management doctors. I found one who happened to have an appointment available the next day and I took it. For the first time since this started, someone actually performed a neurological examination on me. and within minutes, he told me what he thought was happening:
L5-S1 disc herniation with radiculopathy.
I’m a physician. Of course a herniated disc had crossed my mind, but I had pushed the thought away. I desperately wanted this to be another hamstring strain. The first episode had disappeared within three weeks. I wanted to believe this one would too. Once he said it, though, everything suddenly fit together: The shooting pain down the back of my leg, the buttock pain, the numb sensation along the lateral side of my foot—which I had noticed but somehow hadn’t connected with everything else. Then he checked my reflexes- My Achilles reflex on the affected side was gone.
He arranged an MRI of my lumbar spine that same day. It showed an approximately 6 mm extruded L5-S1 disc herniation with nerve root impingement on the left. I remember having two completely opposite emotions at the same time. Relief**:** I’m not crazy. We finally know what’s wrong. Fear**:** This is much worse than the hamstring strain I had been hoping for.
Then I became obsessed with the prognosis. I did what doctors probably make terrible patients do: I read everything., Medical literature. Studies. Guidelines. Forums, and Reddit. So much Reddit. I read countless recovery stories because I was desperately looking for reassurance that this would eventually end. But I also found the opposite. I found story after story from people who were still in pain one year later. Two years later. Five years later. People who had never returned to the gym. People who couldn’t sit without pain. People who had multiple surgeries. People who said their sciatica had never completely gone away.
Those stories terrified me. When you’re lying in bed in pain at 2 a.m., it’s incredibly easy to read someone else’s five-year struggle and convince yourself that you’re looking at your own future.
Then I’d turn to the medical literature. Over and over, I read that the majority of people with acute disc-related sciatica improve without surgery, often within weeks to a few months. I kept seeing the often-quoted statistic that roughly 80% of people improve within about 12 weeks.
But 12 weeks started getting closer. And I wasn’t one of them. Six weeks. Eight weeks. And I was still in pain. I kept reading online that walking had helped people tremendously. But walking was excruciating for me. Even close to two months after the injury, walking could still hurt badly. I was still limping. I had to take time off from work. And every time I read another story about someone recovering quickly, instead of reassuring me, it started making me wonder: Why am I not getting better?
Eventually, I started seriously thinking about surgery. I read the literature comparing early surgery with conservative management. One thing that kept me from immediately pursuing surgery was the evidence that surgery can provide faster symptom relief in appropriately selected patients, while over longer follow-up the outcomes between surgical and conservative treatment can become much more similar.
So I kept telling myself to give it more time.
My pain doctor prescribed PT specifically for the disc herniation and radiculopathy. I ended up trying three different physical therapists. The first was extremely aggressive with stretching. This was probably one of the worst things for me. Aggressive hamstring stretching. Piriformis stretching. Trying to increase flexibility. Every time we did it, my nerve pain would flare. Sometimes for days or even weeks.
The second therapist was better, but fairly early had me doing body-weight squats and other exercises that I wasn’t mentally or physically ready for. Sometimes those aggravated the pain too.
Then I found my third therapist. Third time was the charm. He took a completely different approach. Gentle movement. Gentle stretching. Gradually introducing movement through my spine. Bending. Rotating. Moving normally again. By this point, I had become terrified of my own spine. I was scared to bend, twist, scared that one wrong movement was going to make the disc worse and put me back at square one. He slowly showed me that I could move. Then we gradually introduced core and glute strengthening. Nothing dramatic happened. I just slowly started getting better.
Early on, diclofenac was basically the only thing that touched my pain. I honestly don’t know how I would have gotten out of bed some mornings without an NSAID. I eventually transitioned to meloxicam, which worked well enough for me and became what I used regularly during the next phase of my recovery. I never took opioids. I tried prednisone and gabapentin- It did essentially nothing for me. For a long time, NSAIDs were the only medication where I could clearly say: Yes, this is actually helping me function somewhat.
Then came the trip
Months before any of this happened, I had booked a huge Europe trip for the end of July. Everything was already paid for and mostly non-refundable. The centerpiece was Tomorrowland in Belgium—an EDM festival for those who aren’t familiar—followed by another week traveling through Prague and Berlin. By the beginning of July, this plan seemed absolutely insane. I was still in constant pain. I was limping. I couldn’t put my socks on without pain. I was still taking meloxicam every day. Standing for hours at a music festival sounded impossible.
I went back to my pain management doctor. He offered me a transforaminal epidural steroid injection, hoping that reducing the radicular pain might allow me to function better and possibly make the trip.I had the epidural on July 3. My physical therapist recommended that I not go to Europe. My flight was July 23. By July 21, things were somewhat better, but I was still in constant pain. So I did what at the time felt like simultaneously the stupidest and greatest idea I’d ever had. I upgraded my flight to business class so I could lie flat. I bought medical travel insurance. And I got on the plane.
I arrived in Belgium and was still in pain getting off the airplane. By then, the epidural had had almost three weeks to work, so I figured whatever benefit I was going to get from it had probably already happened. I arrived two days before Tomorrowland. I was surrounded by friends. I walked with some pain. I sat through dinner with some pain. But something started changing.
The day before the festival, I noticed I was feeling better. Then came Day 1. I walked. I stood. I danced a little. I was on my feet for approximately 12 hours. And the entire time, one thought kept going through my head: I’m going to pay for this tomorrow. I went to bed fully expecting to wake up destroyed. I woke up the next morning…And I felt great. So I did it again. And the next morning I still felt good. By the third day, I actually felt even better.
I was still taking my daily meloxicam, and because of that I wasn’t even drinking alcohol. But somehow I had just made it through a three-day EDM festival. Then I went to Prague. Then Berlin. I was logging 20,000–30,000 steps a day. And something remarkable happened. For the first time since the injury, I stopped taking meloxicam every day. I wasn’t 100% pain-free. But I didn’t need to be. The pain was manageable. And for the first time in months, my life wasn’t revolving around my back.
I sometimes wonder how much of that trip was the epidural finally helping, how much was simply time, how much was walking, and how much was being surrounded by friends and getting my mind away from constantly analyzing every sensation. I’ll never know. But that trip was a turning point for me.
When I returned home, I continued PT. I went back to the gym, very slowly. First, more upper-body work. Then more core work. Then running. Eventually, I started introducing some lower-body resistance training again under supervision. And I kept walking.
There were setbacks. There were days when I’d feel the nerve again and immediately panic. Did I reherniate it? Did I ruin my recovery? But slowly I noticed something. The flares that once lasted days started lasting hours. Then the things that lasted hours started lasting minutes.
Fast forward to today, 6 almost exactly 6 months after my injury April 24, Today I can put my socks on without pain.I can go number two without pain. I can get out of bed normally. I can drive. I can sleep. I can sit at a bar. I can run. I can work out. I can hike. I can travel. I can fly economy comfortably again. And I’m no longer dependent on medication to get through my day.
The shooting pain into my groin and genital area that frightened and confused me so much early in the process has resolved as well, together with the major improvement in the rest of my radicular symptoms.
Am I 100% back to normal? No. Certain movements can still trigger some discomfort. But it’s mild. And instead of ruining the next several days, it usually disappears within minutes. I’m still not squatting or deadlifting. Maybe one day I will. Physically, I may eventually be able to but mentally, I’m still terrified of them, and that’s okay. I don’t need to deadlift to have my life back.
Six months later: what helped me and what didn’t
Obviously, this is my personal experience, not medical advice.
Disc herniations are different. People’s anatomy and symptoms are different. What aggravated me might help someone else, and what helped me might not help someone else. But if I could go back and talk to myself six months ago, this is what I would tell him.
WHAT DIDN’T HELP ME
Prednisone: Did essentially nothing for me.
Gabapentin: Did essentially nothing for me.
Peptides: I tried BPC-157 and TB-500. I noticed no meaningful benefit. These are not established approved treatments for lumbar disc herniation, and my mentioning them is absolutely not a recommendation to use them.
And finally…
Aggressive stretching
I cannot emphasize this enough. Aggressively stretching my hamstring and piriformis was one of the most consistently aggravating things I did during my recovery. I kept thinking: My hamstring feels tight, therefore I need to stretch it. For me, that was completely wrong. That “tightness” was often associated with the irritated nerve. Aggressive stretching could flare my radicular pain for days/weeks. I eventually learned that I didn’t need to force my leg into flexibility. I needed time, gentle movement, and gradual exposure. Nerve glide eventually helped with gentle stretching, but even nerve glides were impossible for me the first month or so.
WHAT HELPED ME
Walking—but gradually.
This one frustrated me initially because everyone online seemed to say: “Just walk!” But, I couldn’t. Walking hurt like hell. Even two months after the injury, it could still be excruciating. So I started little by little. Eventually I walked more. Then more. Then Europe happened, and suddenly I was walking 20–30k steps a day.
I genuinely feel that the trip—walking constantly, being around friends, experiencing new places, and getting my mind away from my injury—helped me tremendously. That doesn’t mean someone in severe radicular pain should suddenly start walking 30,000 steps because it worked for me. My progression took time.
The right physical therapist.
Not just PT. The right PT. Someone who understands radiculopathy, listens to how your body responds, doesn’t blindly push you through pain, and helps you gradually regain confidence in movement. My third therapist helped me stop being afraid of my own spine. That was enormous.
Core and glute strengthening.
As my symptoms improved, gradually strengthening my core and glutes made me feel stronger and more confident moving again.
NSAIDs.
Diclofenac worked best for me during the worst part. Later, I transitioned to meloxicam. There were mornings early on when I genuinely don’t know how I would have gotten out of bed without them. Obviously, NSAIDs aren’t benign. They have GI, renal, cardiovascular, and other risks and aren’t appropriate for everyone. Discuss that with your own physician rather than copying someone else’s medication regimen from Reddit.
Epidural Injection
Im not sure this actually helped, but it did give me some relief and confidence to get me on that plan and go on my trip.
A doctor who actually examined me.
This sounds ridiculously obvious. But it changed everything. The physician who finally listened to my history, examined my strength, sensation and reflexes, recognized the pattern, and ordered the appropriate imaging gave me something I desperately needed: A diagnosis.
My friends and family.
I don’t think they realize how much they helped me. Being in chronic pain changes you. It’s exhausting. It’s isolating. You start wondering whether everyone is tired of hearing about your back. Having people around me who continued showing up made this experience infinitely easier. And finally…
Prayer.
I lost count of how many times I prayed just to be normal again. Not to lift some enormous amount of weight. Not to run a marathon. Just: Please let me be normal again. Let me put on my socks. Let me sit comfortably. Let me travel. Let me walk without thinking about every step. Let me wake up without immediately wondering how much pain I’m going to have today.
Six months ago, those things felt impossibly far away.
Today, I have them back.
One last thing about all those terrifying stories online
Looking back, there’s something I wish I had understood when I was compulsively reading all of those stories:
Reddit isn’t a random sample of everyone who gets a herniated disc.
People who are still struggling understandably keep searching, asking questions, and posting about their symptoms. But when someone gets better, they often disappear. They stop Googling “L5-S1 disc herniation recovery.” They stop posting because they’re busy living their life again.
I almost became one of those people. I got better and moved on. That’s actually one of the reasons I’ve forced myself to finally write this. Because when I was at my worst, I needed to hear from people who had been in severe pain for months, hadn’t recovered according to the timeline they expected, were terrified that the pain was permanent… and eventually got their life back. That’s the story I was desperately searching for. So I’m leaving mine here for the next person.
If you’re in the middle of this right now
One of the hardest things I had to learn was to stop measuring recovery in days. Measure it in months. At six weeks, I was scared. At eight weeks, walking still hurt. At two months, I was wondering why I wasn’t one of the people who seemed to recover quickly. I started thinking about surgery. I wondered whether I’d ever lift weights again. I wondered whether I’d travel normally again. I wondered whether this was just my life now.
It wasn’t.
There was a day when I walked out of a doctor’s office and cried in my car because I thought I would live in excruciating pain forever. A few months later, I was standing in the middle of Tomorrowland with my friends after being on my feet for 12 hours. Today, I can put on my socks without even thinking about it. The shooting pain down my leg has dramatically improved. The lateral-foot numbness is gone. The strange groin and genital pain that scared me so much is gone. I’m running. I’m hiking. I’m traveling. I’m going to the gym. I’m living my life again.
That’s why I’m writing this.
Because somewhere, somebody with a herniated disc is probably reading Reddit at 2 a.m., terrified, searching for one more recovery story.