My knee is sore today.
The Physical Therapist who I wrote about a few weeks ago (“El Diablo Nuevo”) really put me through the rigors. A month or so after my knee surgery, it was time to start trying out a few “new” exercises. At one point he had me leaning against a giant ball while doing squats. I could almost feel the tiny cells trying to hold the scar tissue together begin to break down. I was on the verge of having three miniature gushers erupt through the holes in my knee.
For those who haven’t experienced the joy of knee surgery, imagine yourself in the dentist chair with one of those water hoses stuck in your mouth to squirt water, and another one in there to suck it out. Then imagine that in order to get those instruments into your mouth, the dentist decides to go through your cheek.
That is knee surgery, except you don’t get a free toothbrush afterwards.
It’s not that the exercises were tough today – you kind of expect that. The thing that concerned me was the gusto with which he directed me to the new procedures.
He did mention – just before putting me on the giant ball exercise, now that I think about it – that he had just read my previous blog article.
Note to self: Physical Therapists can read.
Note to self: Do not tell Physical Therapists that you have written an article about them.
Note to self: Especially when you use phrases like, “…today I served as the catcher’s mitt for all the pent-up anger in his life.”
If you are a Physical Therapist, please know that I hold you in the highest esteem, that you are handsome and that you really don’t have 666 stenciled on your forehead.
(That should do it.)