A Lot On My Shoulders

The latest chapter in my most recent orthopedic odyssey was a trip to physical therapy this week. I've had physical therapy visits hundreds of times, and most of the time I remember them positively. At the age of three years old, I hadn't yet walked. It was during a PT appointment when my mom and grandma were told the therapist was going to "try something" and not to get their hopes up, etc... Then they put a walker in front of me. I grabbed on to that sucker and took off. I had places to go! I went straight to the vending machine in the hallway and asked for cookies, of course! Everyone hearing this tale, laughed about how the adults were in tears about this wonderful moment, while I only had a single minded desire for cookies (so little changes). I wanted a package of the little round cookies with crinkly edges, vanilla with lemon cream. I remember that part vividly.

Obviously, physical therapy has done me significant good here and there, since I was smaller than Miss Roo. This appointment was a horse of a different color, it was for my upper body. I knew I was upset about the appointment. I knew it might be painful and it would certainly be different. I had no idea that it would be a deeply emotional experience. I just wasn't prepared.

I am screaming at myself even writing about this "What is your problem! It shouldn't be this big a deal." It was. It is. It's ok for my shoulder blades to hit a 10 on the pain scale. It is NOT ok to go to physical therapy for my shoulder blades. I have never been able to rely on my lower half and conversely I have always demanded my upper body pick up the slack. It can't break. It can't join my orthopedic issue roller coaster. It is unacceptable.

As I sat there relaying my medical history it could have been a conversation about anything all. Once the evaluation turned to my pain I had a lot of trouble. I felt stupid. I got chocked up several times. I could not articulate my answers well in almost every case. It hit me hard when he asked if I needed a stool to get up on an exam table. I refused one, as is my habit. I used my arms to pull myself up and I sat down. The therapist said in a matter of fact way, "you expect a lot of your arms." I could have burst into tears right there. Dammit. Of freaking Course I do! Did? Oh God.

He told me he sees lots of people with shoulder issues, but NONE of them have fused spine AND walk with crutches. I tried to joke about how ditching the stupid things would solve everything. In case I haven't said it recently, I hate the crutches. As it turns out they (duh!) had a major part in screwing up my shoulders. He gave me an exercise to do until I come back.

I wanted to punch a wall or cry. Instead I hauled my now-furious shoulder blade out to the the desk to make some more appointments. I wanted to scream at someone because this isn't allowed to happen. Instead I collected Isaac and tried to suck it up. I hope this is an isolated issue and not a sign of things to come.

Just keep swimming.