Making things work

As I mentioned, lately I've been doing physical therapy, because my body has decided to fall apart.

This was a pretty traumatic thing. Not the physical therapy part. Or even farting in front of a room full of people. The getting started was the hardest part.

First, I kept putting off seeing the doctor. I could still walk [ish] and my knee only made that grating noise/feeling when I moved. Then I couldn't really bend my leg, which kind of put a crimp in my activities, but I soldiered on, thinking it would get better.

It did not get better.

I finally saw my doctor, and she prescribed physical therapy, and gave me a few places to call. I said I had gone a number of years ago to the place where the girl always went after her knee catastrophes. My doctor suggested trying a new place, just for fun.

So . . . I put off making an appointment. And then, the week before we were moving the girl back to school, I made the appointment, because I figured it would help with the moving if I could actually walk.

I got to my scheduled appointment at 5pm and . . . flipped the fuck out.

Seriously.

I was so uncomfortable, I couldn't get past the reception area. The nice young lady asked me if I needed anything, and I immediately started babbling that I had to leave, that I was very uncomfortable, and that I was sorry, but I had to go.

And then I left and drove home and power ate a pan of brownies.

Over that weekend, someone from that physical therapy office called me, concerned, offering to set up a new appointment at a different facility, with a new person, the whole nine yards.

I apologized and explained that I have crippling anxiety about medical stuff, and it came out in a really weird way, and please tell that young lady I'm so sorry for freaking her out.

She was very kind.

Which was kind of weird, but then I realized that people in general CAN be very kind. They want to help you, especially when you tell them WHY you're being a loonburger. That one phone call restored my faith in humanity and made me realize it is absolutely ok to advocate for myself.

Ultimately, I made a new appointment and started physical therapy. I wasn't crazy about my therapist - who kept saying stuff like, "You're not getting better," and "I have no idea what to do with you," and so, after stewing and bitching about this situation, a friend said, "You can start over with someone else, you know." And I realized I could. I could continue to advocate for myself and change a situation that wasn't working for me.

So I started working with a different therapist at the same place. I'd go first thing in the morning - 7am - and we're usually the only ones there. I'm calm and relaxed, and I feel like I'm making progress.

I put myself in a place where I feel comfortable and calm and even happy.

Also, the physical therapist looks like Dexter.

This doesn't bother me at all.  Even when I ask him if he's got plans for the weekend and he does a little laugh and says, "Wellll, . . . I've got this little . . . project."