So, yesterday morning was #2 of 16 of what I hope will be the final physical therapy sessions for my right ankle. It went very well. Jim (not his real name) the PT and I work well together. We tried some new exercises which seemed to help. I wasn't overly tired or whining later in the evening which is very new.
Physical therapy is at a hospital here and the clinic also acts as the gym for employees and I imagine former employees. There is this friendly elderly gent who I have seen there many times before. One of the assistant physical therapists acts as his personal trainer of sorts. He is extremely energetic and into things. Good for him I have always thought. Well, yesterday he was working on the leg press machine and that's where we parted friends. Granted I have the ankle problem and all but, the guy presses more than twice the weight that I do (300+ lbs.). What's up with that, I asked Jim? Jim giggled and leaned over and whispered that the old fellow was 85 years old. No, get out! I suddenly felt very sad and motivated at the same time.
To round matters out I usually finish the session with an applied ice pack. On the next bed Jim was working with a new patient who was 11 and whined like no body's business. According to her, her pain level was apparently a ten out of ten. Jim told her that she should be crying then. For the next fifteen minutes Jim tried all the tricks to get the little girl to believe that she was not nearly as bad off as she thought. Is that me I wondered? Am I usually closer to the wimpy 11 year old girl than the studly 85 year old guy? When Jim came over I lowered my voice and whispered, am I that whiny? He smiled and said no. He's very kind that Jim.
Physical therapy is at a hospital here and the clinic also acts as the gym for employees and I imagine former employees. There is this friendly elderly gent who I have seen there many times before. One of the assistant physical therapists acts as his personal trainer of sorts. He is extremely energetic and into things. Good for him I have always thought. Well, yesterday he was working on the leg press machine and that's where we parted friends. Granted I have the ankle problem and all but, the guy presses more than twice the weight that I do (300+ lbs.). What's up with that, I asked Jim? Jim giggled and leaned over and whispered that the old fellow was 85 years old. No, get out! I suddenly felt very sad and motivated at the same time.
To round matters out I usually finish the session with an applied ice pack. On the next bed Jim was working with a new patient who was 11 and whined like no body's business. According to her, her pain level was apparently a ten out of ten. Jim told her that she should be crying then. For the next fifteen minutes Jim tried all the tricks to get the little girl to believe that she was not nearly as bad off as she thought. Is that me I wondered? Am I usually closer to the wimpy 11 year old girl than the studly 85 year old guy? When Jim came over I lowered my voice and whispered, am I that whiny? He smiled and said no. He's very kind that Jim.
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