I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s not lay-on-the-couch-talking-about-my-childhood kind of therapy. It’s for my leg. Really.
Now I’ve never been a fan of Physical Therapists. In my past they all seemed to be mean, unfeeling, sadistic creatures that were just intent on inflicting as much pain as possible without the Medical Review Boards coming to take their license away.
After my second knee surgery, they hauled me away less than 24hrs later and stuck me on a stationary bike. “Pedal!” they commanded. It took a lot of time, “encouragement” and possibly even an electric cattle prod for me to get a single pedal rotation in. By then I was in tears, which I guess they took to mean they had succeeded in their session of torture that day. They wheeled me back up to my room and the nurses gave me another shot of Demerol. A few minutes later the pink elephants came in and rocked me to sleep.
With that being explained, you can understand, at least a little, why I’m not fond of physical therapy. Logically I understand the benefits and reasons, and I’ll go…but you can’t make me like it!
I managed to stay out of PT for ten years or so after that surgery. The fall of 2013 I went again, and I was actually quite fond of the staff at that office. It was on the far side of town from where I lived, which made it at least a 40-minute drive under good conditions, but I didn’t want to take the chance of going to a clinic closer just to find out that I’d gone from dealing with caring humans to the leaders of the Inquisition.
Nancy had surgery earlier this year, and she’s spoken highly of the therapists she’s been working with during her recovery. So when my doctor said the dreaded t-word, I decided to go to the same facility as her.
I am pleased to report that the staff there were very nice, and it sounds like we’ll make actual progress rather than just put me in tears every session. Maybe Physical Therapy isn’t as bad as I remember it.