Don't Get Cocky. Never Get Cocky.

I was just telling you about how I broke through a bit on this whole knee thing.

Today, my physical therapist showed up and took pain to a whole new level.

She pointed out that I was doing one of the exercises incorrectly; when she showed me how to do it right it fucking hurt. HURT! And it was exceptionally hard.

Then she told me that I should do this fucking exercise three times a day and do it just shy of me breaking into tears.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Nothing in this life is pure. There is always an angle, an agenda you're not aware of. With physical therapy it's all about specific goals for specific exercises that the therapists are measured on.

Flexibility is most important. So when it comes to heel slides - which is a brutal exercise, and this exercise we corrected today - which is also brutal, painful, and uncomfortable - therapists are fine with telling me "to the point of tears". Even though they are always saying "we don't want pain - if it hurts you won't want to do it. Pain is bad."

I know this because for these two exercises they have a cheesey little plastic measurement tool which they hold up to my bent knee while they say "we gotta get you to 90, we gotta get you to 90."

Because 90 is what the surgeon wants to hear before he will release me to outside therapy.

The therapist practically threatened me today - "3 times a day to the point of tears, and when I come back on Thursday we are going to get you there."

Maybe I should just fucking move so she can't find me.

My overall point is that it took me 9 fucking days to get to the point where I felt the exercises were even doing anything, where I suddenly felt confident and in control. Today she blew all of that up and regressed me back to a place where I dread the exercises again.

I have done the exercises twice today. It's 5:51 and I have to do them one more time. I do NOT want to do it.

Nurse Ratched is in the house.