Physical therapy might be the end of me. This may be a premature assessment as it’s only been two treatments, but that stuff hurts. I started going because things already hurt, and at the end of the appointment, more things hurt.
My appointments have been scheduled for 7:30 am to not
interfere with work, which sounded like a good idea at the time. At least the
place is three minutes from the house and on the way to the office should an
appointment coincide with an office day. My torturer is named Sam, and at first glance, you might not realize the amount of pain she can inflict. Or maybe I've just become a delicate little flower.
So far, the appointments have included therapist Sam poking 10,000 sore spots around the hip and lower back, most of which I was previously unaware of. This is followed by about 40
minutes of exhausting leg and hip exercises involving rubber bands and balls
and balance things and pulleys. Then, the remainder of the day includes soreness.
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| Relaxing after torture. |
After the morning torture session, there was general pain
and fatigue in both legs from ankle to lower back. Quads and hamstrings are screaming. What a trade! I can’t wait
to go back in a couple days! All this fun for a $30 insurance copayment each time I cross the threshold. What an American healthcare system bargain.
After the torture session, it was a regular day at the desk.
Sitting for eight or nine hours a day likely contributes to the evil pain, but
only for a few more years, right? Then I can retire and hopefully not be too broken
and hobbled to enjoy it. Or maybe the next chapter will be taking to my bed like a Victorian invalid and reading all the many books overcrowding the book cases. To train for a future of lying about, I'll be sitting on the couch with my feet up.
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