Blow It Out Your Bum, Hump Day!

I wish I could lie and say I was excited to take another crack at this physical therapy thing, but I won't. Not to be a whiner, but I was worried after last time that every one of my sessions would wreck me as completely as the first had and sap the dwindling will to continue existing in this pitiful state. On top of that there's stress over logistics.

I have always suffered anxiety about how "to get there" (downstairs, to class, to appointments, etc). I'm good at giving myself extra time, getting creative and if, I have no alternative, asking for help. I've had almost 30 years of practice at varying levels of mobility. Having a baby threw a wrench in this skill set because now it wasn't just about getting me there. Now there was Riley and all her stuff. We did it for months until the pain became too much and I consented to "whatever it takes" aka spinal fusion.

I've been post-op before, but rarely as an adult and never as a mother. I spent months unable to hold my baby or drive at all after my back surgery. I went nowhere for so long that it seems silly now to complain. I knew that I had to get myself to this physical therapy appointment. I made sure Mike could watch Riley and gave myself what was once plenty of time.

The 10ish minute drive there I was overcome with anxiety about parking (not uncommon for me even before this surgery). Would there be a close space? Handicapped spaces near a hospital are never easy to come by. I had to go on my crutches because I have trouble loading and unloading the wheelchair by myself. If there wasn't a close space I'd have to hoof it to and from the building, Driving home exhausted is scary even if it's a short drive.

Getting there, parking, unloading, drooping my crutches, locking the car, walking to the corner, crossing to the right side of the street, walking down the ramp and up to the desk put me there 5mins late. I hate being late. I felt like such a failure. I sank tiredly into a chair and watched the pregnant ladies waddle by on their way to the 2nd floor. I'm jealous of the glowing and not so glowing ones alike. I miss Riley, I don't want to be here, I've had almost 30yrs of pushing through and want to lay down instead of therapy.

I look at the clock it's 10minutes past me arriving 5minutes late. I don't want to go in anyway, but the lady next to me smells like cigarettes. Just then the cutest little toddler comes down the hall. I smile at him and to my surprise he runs towards me smiling and offers me the freebie pregnancy magazine he's holding, I laugh and thank him. He examines one of my crutches and than the other with deep concentration on his tiny features. It was at this point that his grandpa scooped him up and I bid him adieu handing back his waiting room literature.

Therapy itself was much the same as last week. My therapist bemoaned my only having 2 more visits (until the fiscal year resets in June) and the incredible weakness of my hips (which will be a huge and potentially dangerous problem when my hip is replaced). It hurt alot this time and despite my not terrible parking spot I was exhausted when I arrived back at my car. I sat there behind the wheel willing myself to "get it together" for a few minutes, but I cried anyway.

I got home which is good and hugged my baby which is fantastic, but I was wrecked again. I wish I could tell you that I stole away to a long hot shower and a nap, but alas it wasn't to be. Running things from the bed or couch still requires physical presence and consciousness.