PT Progress and Insurance “Love” Letters
Tomorrow, I will not be surprised one bit if people are calling me Egor, as I drag my useless leg around behind me. I can't recall what movie that creepy, monster dude is from but tomorrow I will become him. I'm half way there already.
Yes, that's right everyone, I had another PT appointment today. I should probably be happy, overjoyed in fact, that I'm moving along as quickly as I am when it comes to progress from appointment to appointment. Today, I went from riding the bike for 10 minutes to 15 minutes. My leg press weights went from 20 lbs. to 40 lbs. And then my PT added all kinds of crazy squat business that made me want to scream out a long and dramatic, "NOOOOOO, PUUUHHHLLEEAAASSSEE, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
But I didn't. Instead I stood on the squishy rectangle thing, faced the metal beam in front of me and attempted to do squats. They felt awkward and weird and I kept asking the assistant guy if I was doing them correctly. He told me to pretend I was sitting down on a chair, but every time I did that I had to grab the beam in front of me for balance. I joked that he had that balance ball behind me so that if I fell on my butt, it would bounce me back up.
It took a while for me to get through three sets of not-at-all-deep-squats. I figured I had earned my stims and cryo-cuff time, but I was wrong. Next it was circus trick time. They had me stand on a curved piece of foam, barely bigger than my sneaker, while balancing on it on my bad leg and doing one leg squats. Not only were they one leg only squats. I had to hold and count to five when I got to the most bendy point. Two sets of 15 seemed like extreme and unusual torture and it took me a while to get through all of them. When I was finished, it was onto the bike for 15 minutes. When I finally got to ice my leg and hang out on the table again, I was one happy and exhausted girl.
Before leaving, I also got striped. . .
For over a month now, I've had some serious pain on the opposite side of my leg, post surgery. My ortho thinks it's just cranky muscle from the immobilizer, but after weeks of trying to rub it and work on that spot, it is still sore to the touch and it just doesn't seem to be getting better. My PT thinks that it's blood and post-surgery yuckiness in there (he used more technical words than that of course), so he put this pink stripe down my leg and it's supposed to lift the skin up and get that junk moving along.
I guess I'm wearing pants to teach this week.
As we left the PT area today, Lil C asked if we could take the elevator. I usually take the stairs back down to the parking lot, to practice alternating legs and doing so without looking all crazy and out of alignment. But you know, Lil C REALLY wanted to take the elevator, so we did. After an hour and 45 minutes of PT, I can say I earned that one flight elevator ride. Truly, I did.
Here's the leg so far. The incision is healing up nicely now that the dissolvable stitch that decided it didn't want to dissolve has been removed. Yeah, that felt great getting it taken out, just so you know.
But overall, I have to say that this stupid muscle pain and the discomfort that normally comes with a healing incision and bone wound is 1000 times better than the pain I dealt with on a daily basis from that screw working its way back out of my leg. Having it gone is a wonderful thing.
The not-so-wonderful thing was waiting for me in my mailbox when I arrived back home. I'd like to send a great big shout-out to Cigna for the lovely medical statement that arrived at my home today. It says that almost $2500 worth of my surgeon's costs are not being covered by them, despite the fact that they said pre-surgery that my surgeon's costs would be covered, just not the alloderm. This is all despite the fact that I already paid $225 in co-insurance, and $950 for the alloderm that they wouldn't cover because apparently it's not "medically necessary" to give a girl a little cushion when she could simply be kneeling on bone her whole life.
Cigna, if I could kick you in the head, I totally would.
Conversations with the Husband
Yesterday, I came home from swimming lessons and told Mr. BBM, "Oh, by the way, my friend is coming tonight to do body work on me and a neighbor at around 7:30."
Mr. BBM: He's coming here?
Me: Yeah. Isn't that cool?
Mr. BBM: Wait, so let me get this straight. . . you're going to be naked and getting a rub-down from your friend, in our house, while I'm here with the girls.
Me: Yeah, it's not like I'm going to set up in the family room or something! And it's not like I'm totally naked! Geez!
Mr. BBM: All you wear is underwear, right?
Me: Well yeah, but I'm under a sheet the whole time.
Mr. BBM: Ok, so where are you going to have him set up?
Me: Well, I was thinking up in our bedroom. There's a lot of room up there and then I can let him use the stereo I have in the bathroom for the music.
Mr. BBM: Ok, so wait, naked, getting a rub down, in our house, with a single guy, in our BEDROOM?
Me: Fine, I'll set it up in the playroom where there are no blinds.
And that's just what I did. So to anyone who might have been walking behind my house last night, while my neighbor and I were getting naked rub downs/legitimate body work, "you're welcome" or "our apologies" depending on what part/s you might have seen or not seen.
Two Pounds and the Attitude Fix
Physical therapy today was about a thousand times better. Doing something for the first time is always intimidating, especially when you just want to be better already. It could also be because I knew I was getting a hefty reward tonight: free body work from my good friend.
Today, I arrived without my entourage of children and I was able to concentrate and get through my exercises with much less frustration. My PT even put me on the leg press today, where I am 100% sure I totally cheated and mostly used my right leg. It's funny how, even when your mind is saying it's ok to do something, your body disagrees and decides it's protecting that knee no matter what. My PT told me this is completely nomral though. One less thing to beat myself up about, I suppose.
As I was doing my leg lifts today, my PT asked me how the weight was and I told him it was ok. By "ok," I meant, "Don't you dare up it right now because I'm seriously dying." I felt kind of silly when I looked at how much weight was contained in that little ankle wrap. . . a mere two pounds. When I think back to before, I am pretty sure I was using ankle weights that were about 8 lbs. Just when you think you're getting somewhere.
As per usual though, I don't spend long wallowing in negative attitudes. Next week, my PT will add more time to my bike routine and I'll work on that leg press business again and try not to cheat as much. It was better today, and next week will be even better than this week. The screwless wonder will triumph once again.
This screwless wonder got some great body work tonight, and I think it's fairly obvious that body work does an attitude good.
Bringing It All Back to the Surface-On Starting PT Yet Again
I remember my first day of physical therapy so clearly. It was days after my initial knee injury and I could barely form words. Knots that felt like rocks formed in my throat and threatened to explode into torrents of tears. I was miserable. I remember the PT asking me why I was there and I blurted out in waves of tears that I just wanted to be able to carry my baby around again. I was never quite so miserable. People stared at me while trying to appear that they weren't staring at me. . . the silly girl crying in the chair, confined to it because her crutches were several feet away. The PT quietly set a box of tissues beside me. That made me cry harder. It was downright awful.
I remember my first day of PT post-surgery. A familiar face and smile greeted a very unkempt me as I crutched my way into the office, embarrassed at my appearance but unable to do a thing about it. I wore my husband's scrubs, a soft t-shirt and a big sweatshirt over top. I didn't match at all. I didn't care one bit. My hair was knotted in the back from restlessly moving my head side to side through the night as I tried to find any way to get comfortable. There was no way to get comfortable. I don't even think I bothered to comb my hair before going. My PT smiled at me and it eased some of the hurt because I knew he was there to help me. If he could make me feel better, he would.
The day I left PT, after almost eight months of therapy, I gave him a giant hug and thanked him for helping me get better. We had been partners in my recovery; and we had become good friends.
This week, I started PT with someone new. I walked in feeling awkward and out of place. The "regulars" were doing their routines and I was the newbie. . . once again. My new PT spent time stretching my leg. He kept telling me to relax. I didn't. He gave me exercises to do and I did them. His helper gave me exercises and stretches to do. I did them, but I forgot how tough PT can be when you are faced with the reality that your muscles are gone and you're completely out of shape thanks to doctor's orders to do nothing and an immobilizer brace that is the equivalent of a muscle-eater.
I left, after an hour and a half of what could only be described as near torture. I miss the comfort my previous PT brought me. It's difficult learning a new dance with someone else. He's certainly nice enough, but he's not my PT.
So I'm stuck, three times a week for now, with a new routine that makes my hip hurt and my leg feel tired and miserable. I know it will get better. Deep inside, I really know this. I want to get my muscles back and get back to doing the things I love to do; but for now, I have yet another obstacle to overcome and I'm fresh out of positive attitudes.
A Visit from my Grammom
Yesterday I was busy cooking lobster macaroni & cheese for our guests who were coming later in the day. Earlier in the day, I had been in the grocery store choosing my cheeses. I needed extra sharp cheddar and started reaching for the yellow block of cheese. Then something inside me stopped my hand and I grabbed the white cheese.
"Grammom always used the white cheese," I thought to myself.
I came home and was busy making several courses. I had my pasta boiling and had just drizzled some olive oil in the water. I placed the cap back on the olive oil that was on my counter several inches from the edge. I went back to shredding my cheese. I had a lot of cheese to shred and I forgot about my pasta that I only wanted to have boil for about six or seven minutes.
The girls were busy upstairs and no one else was in the house with me. No breeze blew through the kitchen, but all of a sudden the cap from the olive oil was hitting the floor far from the counter where the bottle sat. It didn't bounce straight either. It went on an angle and crossed the kitchen to where I was standing. I spun around and all at once, this wave of warmth washed through me.
"You don't want your pasta to be too soft!" I heard in my head. It was my Grammom's voice and suddenly I was surrounded by her. It was like she had walked right into my kitchen and put her arms around me. Instead of getting upset that she's physically gone, I smiled and turned off my pasta.
I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday my Grammom paid me a visit. And because of it, I know she's ok and that she's watching over me. At the very least, she's watching over my macaroni and cheese.
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