Today I had one of my thrice-weekly physical therapy sessions with the gang over at the House of Torquemada. It went rather well all things considered.
I have very nice professional people working with and on me. But I have a tendency to tell them exactly how I feel. While describing what hurts and where to a physical therapist is exactly what you should do…what you should NOT do is….
Tell the PT (Tyler the cutie) that the resistance on the exercise bike is way too low for you. So for five excruciating minutes I pedaled up Mt. Everest and got nowhere but I did get burning thighs and not burning thighs in a good way.
Never tell the PT “Oh I’ve done this machine before – it’s a breeze”…because he will increase the weight from a measly 30 pounds up to 70 pounds in a heartbeat and you will do those extra set of 10 leg presses with sweat hiding under your bangs and a smile on your face all the while keeping up a light banter so as not to show this 20-something that you are dying slowly right in front of him.
Above all never, NEVER ask the PT…”have they added any exercises to my routine?” Oh for the love of all that is holy….if you ask them that question and they HAVEN’T added a new exercise, well now you have backed them into a corner and they must add something new. In my case it was this bizarre machine where I pulled levers back toward my body much like rowing a boat. I didn’t want to row a flippin’ boat even if it WAS only 25 pounds. I kept up my breezy banter and the sumbitch added another set of 10.
When will I learn? Apparently never. So when I return to PT on Friday I will have my brain fully engaged before I open my mouth and beg them to increase the weight because I can take it; I’m strong and I’m there to get better. And, yes, they DO, indeed, call me their best patient. They probably, behind my back, also call me a sadomasochist. I know I have names for them…..bwahahahaha.
And they wonder why I fall asleep during my anodyne treatment? Because I’m an old broad who should be in a home with a cabana boy wiping the drool off her mouth….not in spandex shorts doing extra reps for a hottie named Tyler or another cutie named Kris (that’s a guy and yes it’s Kris with a K) who actually gave me an exercise the other day that is simply designed to show the world my batwing arms flapping in the breeze. Had he laughed he would have felt the excruciating wrath of the redheaded stepchild — she who puts up with nothing. Nothing I tell you.
Okay I put up with physical therapy….but only because they’re cute. Sigh…