August 24, 2010

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.

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Posted by on August 24, 2010 in ACL Hell | 5 Comments

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