My ankle isn’t broken and my rotator cuff does not appear to be torn. But I did manage to badly sprain everything on my right side so my doctor said “I’m sending you to physical therapy.” I said YAY I have never been to physical therapy, although my sister in law is one and she seems nice enough. She HELPS people. This will be helpful.
This is the little trick no one tells you about. The niceness. It hides a dark, sadistic side that you cannot possibly suspect until it’s too late and they have you on one of their tables, bending you this way and that, and digging their friendly looking fingers into your wounded muscles.
Sophia. Such a friendly, soft, caring name. She is THIN, can’t weigh more than my 7 year old, and has the build of an elf straight out of the Lord of the Rings movies. But my theory is that physical therapy evolved from the medieval study and practice of torture. They have studied anatomy extensively, and they know EXACTLY where to press to cause the most amount of pain. OK, it helps that you walk in there already in pain. But they know how to maximize it. Sophia has obviously trained with the best. She smiles, she says OK let me try this and then BAM she is pressing down on what is apparently a knotted muscle, which is angry because I caused it a good deal of trauma, and I am hard pressed to remember ANYTHING we were just talking about and have to remember to breathe. “The pain should dissipate in a bit” she says, pressing INTO that knot. Whimper.
In the end though, IN THE END, you feel better. Your shoulder doesn’t ache as much, and you have a bit more mobility than you had yesterday. So you willingly subject yourself to more of this treatment. You also wonder if bringing a round of donuts and coffee next time might buy you a little mercy…