Check In: 1st Physical Therapy Appt (For Dana3) who understands medical humor)
Other than starting an hour late (oy) and an elderly gentlemen having problems in the treatment room nextdoor (more on this), it went very well. I'll mention here, for those who haven't yet received any physical therapy in this sort of setup - there's several large interconnecting rooms, with windows along the exterior wall then off along the inner wall several rooms with thick heavy curtains. There is, as one might expect, visual privacy but very little to no auditory privacy.
Cindy started with some pulling massage, using a warming body butter-type cream to gently pull the muscles and ligaments of my upper chest and front of the shoulders. She then held down the muscles in place in their new locations, stretching the ligaments. As expected, the left side is considerably worse than the right - a possible reference to the Costachondritis and a very old car crash (when I was 21, so twenty years ago) when I was rear ended by a tour bus who blew a red light and rammed me from behind in my very small 2-door car (Nissan Pulsar). Obviously, I lost that battle.
After that, we moved to one of those large platforms where she placed a hard roll behind my pelvic bone up to the knob of my upper spine. I then laid on it on my back, gently stretching the front muscles. Similar to yoga, you stretch until its just shy of pain. Pain isn't the point, gentle acceptance and forgiveness of my body's limitations is. I'm going to use my yoga mat, if long enough, to do this 3-5 minutes in gentle acceptance each day on my bed and stretch those ligaments and muscles between the twice weekly sessions.
I like this.
Now, for the funny story of Ed the guy in the next treatment room. Apparently, poor Ed has a plethora of medical problems and is in a nursing care facility, I watched him come in via Island Paratransit, then wait in the lobby. He brought with him a nursing aid and some kind of physical handler, these two had to move Ed from his motorized wheelchair to the treatment bed for physical therapy. I would assume they have worked out some sort of communication style with Ed, because Ed has a very specific language with them. "Ow. Ow. My arm hurts. You are hurting my arm!" then "Ow. Ow. My elbow hurts. You are bending my elbow wrong." Then his legs. "Ow. Ow. My left leg hurts. My leg hurts when you lift it that way" Then it got a bit more personal: "Ow. Ow. You are hurting my gonads!" then "Ow. Ow. You are hurting my DICK!" And the whammy set in: "Ow. Ow. I have to pee. Did anyone bring the urinal?" and their response. "No, we didn't Ed." and "Can you go get one? This is a hospital!" More squabbling commenced "Ow. Ow. Ow. I really need to pee. Someone needs to pack those when we travel!" and their hissed responses I couldn't quite make out, but I'm certain weren't any of our business.
Ed's therapist wasn't in that exam room because she was outside OUR exam room giggling and whispering "Oh my God!" then rushing to ask someone to "go find a urinal and HURRY, for God's sake because Ed's gonads and DICK hurts!"
Cindy and I managed to be consummate professionals, as both physical therapist and patient - she stretched, I breathed. And we released and we forgave.
And someone ran by with a urinal and the rest is best left to the imagination.
Cindy started with some pulling massage, using a warming body butter-type cream to gently pull the muscles and ligaments of my upper chest and front of the shoulders. She then held down the muscles in place in their new locations, stretching the ligaments. As expected, the left side is considerably worse than the right - a possible reference to the Costachondritis and a very old car crash (when I was 21, so twenty years ago) when I was rear ended by a tour bus who blew a red light and rammed me from behind in my very small 2-door car (Nissan Pulsar). Obviously, I lost that battle.
After that, we moved to one of those large platforms where she placed a hard roll behind my pelvic bone up to the knob of my upper spine. I then laid on it on my back, gently stretching the front muscles. Similar to yoga, you stretch until its just shy of pain. Pain isn't the point, gentle acceptance and forgiveness of my body's limitations is. I'm going to use my yoga mat, if long enough, to do this 3-5 minutes in gentle acceptance each day on my bed and stretch those ligaments and muscles between the twice weekly sessions.
I like this.
Now, for the funny story of Ed the guy in the next treatment room. Apparently, poor Ed has a plethora of medical problems and is in a nursing care facility, I watched him come in via Island Paratransit, then wait in the lobby. He brought with him a nursing aid and some kind of physical handler, these two had to move Ed from his motorized wheelchair to the treatment bed for physical therapy. I would assume they have worked out some sort of communication style with Ed, because Ed has a very specific language with them. "Ow. Ow. My arm hurts. You are hurting my arm!" then "Ow. Ow. My elbow hurts. You are bending my elbow wrong." Then his legs. "Ow. Ow. My left leg hurts. My leg hurts when you lift it that way" Then it got a bit more personal: "Ow. Ow. You are hurting my gonads!" then "Ow. Ow. You are hurting my DICK!" And the whammy set in: "Ow. Ow. I have to pee. Did anyone bring the urinal?" and their response. "No, we didn't Ed." and "Can you go get one? This is a hospital!" More squabbling commenced "Ow. Ow. Ow. I really need to pee. Someone needs to pack those when we travel!" and their hissed responses I couldn't quite make out, but I'm certain weren't any of our business.
Ed's therapist wasn't in that exam room because she was outside OUR exam room giggling and whispering "Oh my God!" then rushing to ask someone to "go find a urinal and HURRY, for God's sake because Ed's gonads and DICK hurts!"
Cindy and I managed to be consummate professionals, as both physical therapist and patient - she stretched, I breathed. And we released and we forgave.
And someone ran by with a urinal and the rest is best left to the imagination.