I’ve been doing physical therapy twice a week, and it seems mostly pointless to me. Can’t I just get better at walking by, oh, I don’t know… walking?
I finally asked the lady at the front desk of the gym if she cared if I hopped on an exercise bike after PT. Her lips formed a tight line. “You’d need a membership,” she said and chased me out with daggers shot from her eyes.
That answers that question. Brrr. On my next visit, I’ll wear jeans so she’ll know I’m not planning to stay for an ill-gotten workout. Otherwise, I imagine her whispering to a colleague, “Keep an eye on that one.”
On my latest visit, I decided to make friends with my fellow PT inmates by saying to one, “So, what are you in for?”
She had had a tumor in her spine! Her entire spinal column is now titanium, and she’s learning to walk again after five years in a wheelchair.
I wanted to hide my lowly “bruised-boned” foot behind my leg.
A third woman was doing breathing exercises in a chair facing away from us. “I feel like I’ve been put in the corner,” she said. We chuckled genially. Then the titanium lady had to literally stand in the corner, one hand on each wall to do… something. I didn’t hear the instructions. Naturally I pointed out that she was now in the corner, to which Titanium responded in a plaintive tone to her imaginary accuser, “I’m sorry!”
Doing our best to make our mutual pain more fun.
The most challenging thing I have to do is lift my big toe–only. Lifting all my toes together, sure, but the big one separately? Not so much. It’s a different muscle, I was told, so I should be able to do it. I don’t know if it’s muscle damage or muscle coordination that’s the culprit here. I sent a picture to Hubby of my latest attempt.