One of the most difficult nights ever leaves me tired and a little discouraged. But I know that the pain I experienced during the night is due to the physical therapy. The pain started from my feet to my groin, no doubt the result of the stretching of my calf and hip.
I manage to walk to the kitchen and ice my knee, buried under a fleece blanket. It’s 8:00 a.m. and I want to go to bed but I won’t do it.
My husband makes me breakfast and I take a shower. I do my series of exercises and I check my e-mail before going to town for some grocery shopping. I accompany my husband for a little while and decide to wait at the Peet’s café. The pain in the back of my leg is not severe but slows me down. Besides, I took my crutch in the store and feel like a crimpled. Not that I care, I actually am injured and have never had as much compassion for the handicapped people as now.
But as much as I was uplifted yesterday after therapy, I am now cautious again.
After lunch, I walk again, ice my knee, and do more dangles of my knee. Since the kitchen timer is too far from where I sit, I count up to fifty for extensions and 60 for flexions.
Later I will do my second round of exercises.
I know there is improvement and I keep reminding myself of two young women I saw at the surgeon’s office and at the physical therapy facility. The first one came for her appointment wearing her leg brace but left the office running, the brace tucked under her arm, a big smile on her face. The second one is a frequent figure at the therapy. She doesn’t wear her brace anymore but leaves with a pack of ice on her knee before driving away. While I do my exercises, she does hers. In her tight shorts and tiny socks, her legs are muscular and tanned. Her knees are strong and beautiful. She jumps and stretches, she bikes and squats.
I keep thinking of both girls to remind myself that one day I’ll be both of them.
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