Please Put Those Away
Today, amid lingering ickyness from a stomach bug that struck me hard yesterday, I forced myself out and about for at least a part of the day. I spent the morning making a stop at the local urgent care to get a confirmation on the virus I was dealing with and a doctors excuse for having had to miss work thanks to it. After that I went to see my step mom for a clean-up cut and color date.
She is a miracle worker and managed to cut my hair into an even cuter 'do, which I will show off when the puffy dark sickly circles under my eyes have disappeared and I can photograph myself without scaring off my readers. She also gave me a good coloring that evens things out and makes me look AB FAB!
After that I came home for rest and relaxing, as that little bit of doing got me wore plum out. I cat napped and watched some television and ate a small bowl of plain cooked macaroni, which didn't settle well and reminded me that I'd spent most of my day yesterday running between bed and bath, but never beyond.
I then had my first physical therapy appointment that I didn't want to miss. Despite my exhaustion I went and did it. I was examined by the therapist and had my knee poked, prodded, manipulated, twisted and shouted. I learned that the surgeon didn't give me an "exactly accurate diagnosis". Sure I do have patella femoral pain but it is an aside to the pain that is being caused by the little knots and inflammation where the hamstring tendon connects at the knee area. I knew it hurt on the side/back a lot more than it did on the front but the surgeon was sure my pain was caused by my patella off tracking.
The physical therapist, however, feels that, upon examination and listening to my descriptions of when and how my knee hurts, the pain is actually caused by that tendon and the muscle it is attached to being too short. According to her this can either be because of genetics or as a result of an injury, much like the fall I took back in March, since which my knee pain has started and progressed. Since I never had any knee trouble before this, the accident is the likely culprit.
So after examining me thoroughly she set me up in the PT room with stretching exercises followed by deep tissue massage on the posterior knee area. I got to lie on my stomach while she alternated between applying (painful amounts of) pressure and massage. It hurt like hell, which surprised me really, but afterward I stood with a definite decrease in pain.
But please, let me back track a moment to something I experienced while doing my first set of stretching exercises. To give you an idea of how the PT room is set up first: you walk in the door and are facing the room at large. To the right along a long wall there are approximately 6 tables/beds. Straight ahead there are various exercise machines, to the right are areas in which to do certain types of exercises using the wall as support as well as a few racks holding therapeutic devices. It's really a pretty open area, a large room probably about 30 x 50.
I was being instructed by my therapist at one of the machine stations on how to do a calf flex stretch using a slanted block of wood at my feet and bracing my upper body against the machine. As she demonstrated I noticed an older gentleman preparing for therapy on one of table/beds. The therapist he was with had just asked him to sit on the table/bed with his legs hanging over the side while he adjusted the bottom of the table. The therapist pulled the last two "slats" of the bed up into a teepee shape, after which he instructed the old gentleman to swing his legs up and over the teepee.
This is when it happened. My eyes are still burning with the regret of having witnessed any of this.
As the old guy moved himself into position his old schwetti balls fell out of his shorts, right there, in plain view, for all to see. But did all see? No, no. Only me (and my therapist). I stood there aghast, trying not to stare but unable to look away. You know how you're not supposed to look at the sun but you do it anyway, because you know you're not supposed to? It was just like that.
(And now I think I need a new kind of therapist.)
When I realized my therapist had fallen quiet, probably waiting for me to return to earth and acknowledge that I heard her instructions and begin my stretching, I snapped my head towards her and saw her staring at the old mans balls too. She made a head gesture which was quickly received by the old guys therapist who made a quick step towards the gentleman's head where he obviously whispered for him to put the boys away.
I don't think she realized I saw them, if she did she played it off well. I think she thought she saved the rest of the room from having to see them, which she may have... but I saw them. And I never want to see that again.
Wear underwear dude! You're like 125 years old... put those things away!
She is a miracle worker and managed to cut my hair into an even cuter 'do, which I will show off when the puffy dark sickly circles under my eyes have disappeared and I can photograph myself without scaring off my readers. She also gave me a good coloring that evens things out and makes me look AB FAB!
After that I came home for rest and relaxing, as that little bit of doing got me wore plum out. I cat napped and watched some television and ate a small bowl of plain cooked macaroni, which didn't settle well and reminded me that I'd spent most of my day yesterday running between bed and bath, but never beyond.
I then had my first physical therapy appointment that I didn't want to miss. Despite my exhaustion I went and did it. I was examined by the therapist and had my knee poked, prodded, manipulated, twisted and shouted. I learned that the surgeon didn't give me an "exactly accurate diagnosis". Sure I do have patella femoral pain but it is an aside to the pain that is being caused by the little knots and inflammation where the hamstring tendon connects at the knee area. I knew it hurt on the side/back a lot more than it did on the front but the surgeon was sure my pain was caused by my patella off tracking.
The physical therapist, however, feels that, upon examination and listening to my descriptions of when and how my knee hurts, the pain is actually caused by that tendon and the muscle it is attached to being too short. According to her this can either be because of genetics or as a result of an injury, much like the fall I took back in March, since which my knee pain has started and progressed. Since I never had any knee trouble before this, the accident is the likely culprit.
So after examining me thoroughly she set me up in the PT room with stretching exercises followed by deep tissue massage on the posterior knee area. I got to lie on my stomach while she alternated between applying (painful amounts of) pressure and massage. It hurt like hell, which surprised me really, but afterward I stood with a definite decrease in pain.
But please, let me back track a moment to something I experienced while doing my first set of stretching exercises. To give you an idea of how the PT room is set up first: you walk in the door and are facing the room at large. To the right along a long wall there are approximately 6 tables/beds. Straight ahead there are various exercise machines, to the right are areas in which to do certain types of exercises using the wall as support as well as a few racks holding therapeutic devices. It's really a pretty open area, a large room probably about 30 x 50.
I was being instructed by my therapist at one of the machine stations on how to do a calf flex stretch using a slanted block of wood at my feet and bracing my upper body against the machine. As she demonstrated I noticed an older gentleman preparing for therapy on one of table/beds. The therapist he was with had just asked him to sit on the table/bed with his legs hanging over the side while he adjusted the bottom of the table. The therapist pulled the last two "slats" of the bed up into a teepee shape, after which he instructed the old gentleman to swing his legs up and over the teepee.
This is when it happened. My eyes are still burning with the regret of having witnessed any of this.
As the old guy moved himself into position his old schwetti balls fell out of his shorts, right there, in plain view, for all to see. But did all see? No, no. Only me (and my therapist). I stood there aghast, trying not to stare but unable to look away. You know how you're not supposed to look at the sun but you do it anyway, because you know you're not supposed to? It was just like that.
(And now I think I need a new kind of therapist.)
When I realized my therapist had fallen quiet, probably waiting for me to return to earth and acknowledge that I heard her instructions and begin my stretching, I snapped my head towards her and saw her staring at the old mans balls too. She made a head gesture which was quickly received by the old guys therapist who made a quick step towards the gentleman's head where he obviously whispered for him to put the boys away.
I don't think she realized I saw them, if she did she played it off well. I think she thought she saved the rest of the room from having to see them, which she may have... but I saw them. And I never want to see that again.
Wear underwear dude! You're like 125 years old... put those things away!
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