As is the way of things in my world, everything went wacky along the way to physical therapy. At first it was that the scheduler called while I was driving the kids home from school. My eldest son answered the phone just as I was attempting to drive past a house that had tree cutters out working on their front yard (which, if you’ve never experienced this, involves several men standing in the street staring up at the man in the tree, at least two tree service trucks and also some sort of grinding trailer), and directly in front of us a police car drove up, parked sideways in the street, and sat there without anyone getting out. I had to make a turnaround amidst this craziness and David handed me the phone anyways. So I got confused, told the scheduler the wrong information, and made a bad appointment date…which turned out to be the right one in the end because I’d miswritten my middle child’s school field trip in my calendar. Anyways, after a bunch of confusion and rescheduling, I finally managed to get an appointment on a day I could go, found someone to watch my child, and all was good. Right? Wrong. The morning of my appointment the babysitter called and said her child was throwing up. As I was driving there. So I took my youngest son with me.
We made it over to the appointment & found good parking, so we had time to spare. I set him up a little spot to read his stories while I filled out forms, which did not take nearly as long as they allocated them to take. The lady that ended up later being my physical therapist brought out a toy (the kind that is like a wiggly wonky abacus) for Greg to play with, which was excellent, as it turned out that they’d triple booked the therapist I was supposed to see, so we ended up waiting for an hour before we got to see someone. When we got back into the office, my little boy was not interested in his books or his toys any longer, but I had a trick up my sleeve: treats hidden in my bag. So he ate some cheerios & drank some juice while I got through my evaluation. Fortunately he’s the kind of kid you can take anywhere. 🙂
The first thing the therapist told me shocked me: my insurance requires a co-pay per appointment and my doctor requested 12 sessions for me. The insurance would start covering 100% after 60 sessions at $35 a piece. She thought that was unreasonable, especially since we had evidence from my last bout of PT that showed that the insurance used to just have me pay $35 for the first session, then up to 8 “follow-up” sessions were covered 100% before I had to pay another co-pay. Ridiculous. So she evaluated me and we decided amongst ourselves that since I have a gym membership that includes a room full of yoga/stretching equipment & a pool, I can do most of my therapy on my own, and come back every few months when the exercises she gives me start getting easy.
After the first session, she sent me home with stretching exercises that were nearly identical to the ones that I was doing at home anyways, so when I went back on Tuesday I was able to tell her that I’d passed section one. I was able to go alone to that appointment and the therapist I saw on Friday came and gathered me up before the person that had been allocated to me for that session came and found me. Which was good, as she had prepared an entire three months worth of exercises for me to do. I have three layers of hardness. I start with the easy stuff, then move on to the harder, then the hardest on my list. I’ll be doing stretching, core work, and giant exercise ball work, along with time on the elliptical machine every day. The elliptical remains easy going, as does the stretching, but the core work kicks my butt. Every. Single. Exercise. So. Very. Hard.
I’m so excited that I’ll eventually be able to walk again without turning my legs the wrong direction and without all the hip and knee pain. So I’m going to work hard, harder, hardest and get my core & my legs strong again.