Tales of Physical Therapy

I have been “enjoying” the opportunity to strengthen my foot as it heals from reconstructive surgery. Sadly, I have been at this particular establishment far too many times and they know me well. Kind of like Norm at “Cheers”. Seriously. On my first day of PT, I was told that I didn’t need to have surgery to come and visit.

The first fifteen minutes of my appointment, requires me to lounge while my foot is being stimulated by tiny little electrical currents. I am usually reading a book on my phone as I relax into it. Yesterday, I was positioned near – appropriate social distancing implemented – two other patients who were working with their physical therapist. One was discussing her experience with vaginal birth while the other was arguing about his restriction for not cycling for three weeks. These are the moments where I wish I brought ear buds.

Let’s visit with the cycling guy because I really blocked out the lady talking about birthing babies. The bike enthusiast was far more interesting. He was literally like a lawyer presenting his case of why he couldn’t go without riding his bike for three weeks. Mind you that the doctor sent him to this fine place of rehabilitation, but you wouldn’t know that. This guy was compelling. Not. His chief complaint was a sore muscle. The PT was explaining several exercises that would be beneficial but this guy was all about negotiation which, by the way, wasn’t really on the table.

Normally, I could block this out. Simply sit back and enjoy the 15 minutes of my treatment before I do exercises that make me want to cry, but, this guy’s voice was booming. Like the whole establishment was the unfortunate recipient of listening to this individual, not complain about his injury, but his three week absence from his beloved bike.

I didn’t get the opportunity to hear the conclusion of the conversation because I was whisked away to my own version of torture. If I were asked to share my thoughts, here is what I would have said, “These are the exercises. Do them. Don’t do them. Nobody fucking cares. However, if you choose not to do them and continue to ride you may do further injury where you may never ride again. Suck it up, butter cup and grow some balls.” This is why I didn’t become a nurse. I simply have no patience for whiney people. My tolerance is the size of a pea in cases where individuals can’t follow simply instructions that will help them in the long run. It’s just another reminder that I need to bring my ear buds on every visit.

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