You think I’m just sitting around at home with nothing better to do than post to my blog? Noooo, not this guy—I’ve now got physical therapy three times a week to keep my mind off missing work. And is it ever FUN. My sister calls it electrode therapy, they call it electrode ultrasound. Me, I liken it to the death penalty via electrocution!! Apparently, I’ve been guilty for quite some time of allowing the right half of my body to overcompensate for the left’s inability to function “normally” since I fell to Earth (out of that tree) back in 2006. Great whopping surprise that my pelvic cradle tilts slightly upwards on the right-hand side–I’m crooked. Imagine that.
BUT, it is fixable, just like the Six-Million-Dollar Man; “we have the technology, we can rebuild him…” Just don’t expect to see me hurtling over twenty-foot high walls anytime soon. Heck, I can still count the number of times I’ve “hopped” distances greater than 8 inches in the past three-and-a-half years on two hands (that’s a numerical reference, not a reference to my acrobatic prowess!). But picture it in your mind for the fun of it anyway!
So, I remain in the hands of the medieval barbers for the next few weeks, at least. One more peasant for The Rack and bloodletting and draining of the humours! At least the therapy rooms are separated only by curtains, so we can all hear each other scream and beg for mercy. It’s quite humorous at times, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all canned laughter to mask the shrieking and curse words (that’s what I’d do if I were the
Marquis de Sade!). The funniest part, of course, is the walk to and from the hospital. Twisted me, I laugh out loud when the muscles start to seize up because the idiocy of my situation, for some unknown reason, humors me. I like to think that Job laughed on occasion too! At least I hope so.