A Bittersweet End
Today was my last day of physical therapy. These "last days" are always bittersweet. I'm happy and excited to be on my own, but it usually means I'm saying goodbye to new friends too. I walked into physical therapy with a bad attitude this time around. I had not expected to need PT after this last surgery. I wasn't anxious to give up hours of my week once again; but after one day of PT with this group, I was feeling motivated again. Leaving PT though, means that it's all up to me from here on out. I need to get to the gym on a regular basis and treat it like it's a required appointment.
The best part about physical therapy, this time around, is that I'm leaving with some confidence I didn't have before. My PT pushed me outside of my comfort zone, making me stand on wobbly foam while doing squats, snap kicks and side kicks. He added weight to the leg press when I didn't think I could take anymore, and I did. He made me do crazy one-legged squats while balancing on a crescent shaped piece of styrofoam; and while I initially was kind of cursing him for it, I can't think of a time when my leg was stronger. The visual difference in my muscle over just a few weeks is obvious. The way it feels makes it even more exciting. My leg truly feels good for the first time in a really long time.
I brought the guys a giant container of donut holes this morning as a "thank you." I'm feeling better than I have ever felt and I owe the new strength in my leg to them. Donut holes don't seem to be quite enough for what they've done for me.
We talked this morning about a game plan for heading back to karate and eventually tennis. The plan for now is to continue working out on my own and building up strength and confidence. Then I'm going to start doing some karate at home on my own, slowly, to get used to things again. Once I find time in my schedule again to make paying the monthly fee worth it, I'll go back on a gradual basis. My PT warned me against going in there all gang-busters and then messing something up. He doesn't need to worry about that. Caution is practically my middle name now. I need to give my bone sufficient time to heal from the hole that removing the screw made.
Graduating from PT this week was the boost I needed to make me feel like I'm getting somewhere. I have to say though, I'm really going to miss those guys. Randy and Brandon. . . thank you SO much. One of these days I'm going to buy you both a drink (or school you at beer pong, your choice). You helped me gain strength and confidence; and I consider you both friends.
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.
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.
Ke$ha Style Revenge at the Post-Op
I'll admit it. My pet peeves are plenty. But if there is one thing that absolutely drives me insane, it's waiting in a tiny room for a doctor forEVER. Today, my appointment with my ortho surgeon was at 1:45. I was the only person in the waiting room. The office staff was just back from lunch. There was no backlog of patients waiting to be seen. No emergencies busted in before me. And yet there I was, 20 minutes after my scheduled appointment, still waiting for a room.
When I was finally taken back to the room (with both girls in tow), I figured I'd be seen quickly. I figured wrong. At the 35 minute point, post appointment, I decided that if Lil C wanted to sing her heart out I was going to be ok with that. In fact, if Big I wanted to join her and if the two of them wanted to dance around, stomping like elephants, that would be cool too.
At 40 minutes post appointment time, the exam room concert began. Lil C started by standing in the center of the teeny room and clearing her throat. She then broke out in a near perfect version of Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold." When she forgot the rest of the words, she switched to her tried and true, Ke$ha's "Tik Tok." She knows every word to that song; she also knows that brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack is a bad idea. She has motions to go with each line. At the end of every other line, she threw up some crazy side kick/roundhouse business. It was loud and it was awesome.
I sat on the exam table bopping my head to the beat. I encouraged her to continue singing and louder. Any doctor who's going to make me wait that long should have his office graced with little girl concert. It's called the patient's revenge and it's my right as a human being.
When he finally entered the room about 10 minutes later, Lil C was on her 6th round of "Tik Tok" and she was getting more and more energetic with each round. He walked in the room, and she backed up into the chair, crossed her arms and said, "You took WAY too long." This is the second time she has scolded him; and it is times like this that I swear that kid and I have a mental connection. I think it; she says it.
A few minutes later, as he was consulting my surgical notes, Lil C leaned forward in her chair and said, "Ok, ok, ok, so I have to know something. Can Mommy swim now or what?" Once again, mental connection. What I love about this surgeon is that he totally gets my kid. He turned to me and asked me if this drama was the norm for her. I nodded that it was and he told her that I was going to have to call my plastic surgeon to get the swimming answer for her. She didn't like that one bit.
I also didn't like being told that I have to wait two more weeks to do anything. In addition, I have to start going to physical therapy again next week. Until my flexion is back to normal, I'm not allowed to do any treadmill walking or running. I'm at about 75% of where I should be, but it's the last 25% that is always bite-your-pillow-and-swear-a-lot killer. I need to be going to PT appointments three times a week like I need a hole in the head. I just don't.
Once I'm allowed to exercise again, I have to be careful so as not to get a stress fracture right through my bone thanks to the huge hole the screw being removed left. He said I have a Level 1 PCL sprain still happening. So, no knee extensions, no squats, no breast stroke (Ugh-how does he think I can survive???). Once I can go back to the gym, I'm going to find a good trainer and get this atrophied leg whipped back into shape. The problem is that there are so many limitations.
Here's the good news though. My surgeon had me sit on the table with my legs hanging over the side. He grabbed my left leg, twisted it a bit and held it tight and asked me to pull it back towards the table. This has always caused me a ton of pain. Today, he grabbed the leg and watched my face for the grimace I've had each and every time I'm there. Today, there was nothing. The screw is gone and so is the pain associated with it. I just need some more time to heal. I am starting to believe I will really be better. . . finally.
And that feels almost as good as the Ke$ha revenge.
Today, I am speaking out at Violence Unsilenced. Check it out. There are also some great winning opportunities on The BBM Review. Check them out too!
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