Tuesday, December 17, 2013

PT And The Future

This physical therapy thing is really spooking me.

Strange when I walk into the facility. It is a clean, kind of modern, antiseptic looking place. I glide in on the upper level and am greeted by the receptionist, which in truth is a sign. The desk looks like a receptionist's desk, but no one sits there. There is a sign sitting right in the middle of it, pointing to this and pointing to that.

Kind of like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, but not really.

I head downstairs and there is where the haunting begins. If I walk straight ahead I am headed towards the orthopaedic side of the building.

That is where all the old people hang out. You know, the people over sixty. Wheel chairs, walkers, canes, slow moving bodies, bodies for which movement is challenging, slow moving bodies with pained, sad faces.

Instead, I hook a left towards the sports medicine side of the building. Here there is energy. Lots of energy. The people who are there have injuries. A lot of them appear to be athletes or at least athletic. People don't look sad on this side of the building, they look annoyed.

There is not a lot of distance separating the two areas of the building. In fact there is a small demilitarized zone in between them, a waiting area with a TV, of course, and a little coffee shop thingy.

I have noticed the demilitarized zone seems to be used by the old folks, or those waiting for the old folks.

I never hang there.

Even the therapists are perky in the sports medicine area. I like the guy that is working me over. He shares a measure of my sense of humor. This is a rare find for me.

The torture cubicles are separated by curtains that can be drawn or not. At one of the sessions he kept brushing up against the curtain. Suddenly he leaned back against the curtain and said "Look at me - I am in a puppet show."

I loved it. I know you more conservative types are horrified. That is why I don't spend time with you. No sense of humor.

We talk a lot. When he asks about my job I can say "It sucks" to which he replies "Sounds like it does suck."

He is still searching for answers. He found something last night that made him wonder if I have problems in two areas. It was indeed a painful find, both physically and mentally.

Because the progress is slow. I am still in almost constant pain. I am still not sleeping. It has been almost three weeks.

I am quite irritable.

Today is Day Eight of eight in a row at Lompoc. I had a particularly sleepless night last night. It would not take much for me to explode today and rip somebody's head off.

Most likely my boss. She is an ass.

Disclaimer: I am undergoing physical therapy. Not chemo-therapy. I understand that. (For those who feel the need to act as my conscience).

The progress is slow and I don't know if I have made the right decision. I don't know what I am risking. Maybe I should have gone chiropractic. Maybe I should be simultaneously undergoing acupuncture.

I don't know. I don't know.

Last night was the first evening appointment. Apparently right up against their closing time.

When I walked out of the sports medicine area, there was not a soul on the lower level. Not one.

I stopped for a moment and looked around. Looked over at orthopaedics, and back at sports medicine. Stood there for a moment and took in the vibe. The overall vibe. The "this is the present, this could be the future" vibe.

It gave me chills.

I went upstairs - same thing. Not one human being.

I stood in front of the Scarecrow's desk, looked at the sign, looked left, look right. No movement, no sound.

Took in the antiseptic feel of the place. The steel. The stone. The forced attempt at appearing welcoming.

It was eerie.

I walked out into a very cold December night knowing I will be walking back through those doors many times in the next few weeks.

Walking back through those doors not knowing exactly where it will lead me.

I am uncomfortable in many more ways than just physically.

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