Therapy Shout Out

I don't know if any of my physical/occupational therapists are still reading this blog, but if they are, this post is for them.  Others might find it interesting, in that polite, oh-that's-nice kind of way, but only PTs and OTs  and other patients know that this stuff is bigger in some ways than hundreds of feet walking and going up stairs.

When I wash my hair in the kitchen, I stand up and lean over the sink for the wetting/rinsing.  I do sit in a chair for the scrubbing part, though.  I can do all the lathering and rinsing myself, but sometimes I let hubby help me so it hurts less or goes faster.

When I walk to the wheelchair, parked at the front door for an outing, I don't use canes.  When I walk to the car door and get in, I don't use canes unless the parking lot is uneven.  I don't sit and turn into the car anymore.  I stand on my right leg while I step my left foot into the car and then sit down and pull my right foot up into the car.

When I get dressed, I put on my pants standing up.  I stand on one foot to put the other one in the pants.  I have a chair beside me that I can grab for balance while doing this, but I usually don't need to grab it.  I don't use a reacher or a sock tool.  I raise one foot and rest it on my other knee to put my socks and shoes on. 

Most of the time I don't even weep for joy when I do these common tasks anymore.  But sometimes I do.  I never forget the hours I spent with patient, caring women and men who waited for my frustrated tears to subside when my brain told my legs and feet to do these things but nothing happened, but pushed me to keep trying, and who shared my victory elation back when using a sock tool or a leg lifter to do these tasks was still an amazing feat.  These triumphs in personal independence are yours to share with me.  Thank you.

I think it might be time to make a few visits to my previous therapists and show them exactly how far they helped me come.  I'll talk to the hubby about it.

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It's almost time for a six month check-up with my oncologist.  I am anxious to see him because my tumors have been worrying me lately.  When the pain in my back throbs with my heartbeat, I am afraid because I know that my tumor is a mess of blood vessel tissue gone awry, and I hope it's not growing.  At night I often have nightmares about people shoving me hard in the back or leaning heavily into the tumor area with their forearms or elbows, dreams that I think are spawned by real pain I'm feeling in my sleep.  I've come so very, very far, and I'm as terrified as ever of losing it again.