I'm Sorry I Raised My Voice

"But you're hurting me so badly that I'm about to pee all over this table."

I didn't. Pee on the table, I mean. I did yelp in pain a few times. This woman is on a mission. I may not survive the mission though.

When you read information about knee replacement on the web, people insist that pain meds be taken prior to physical therapy. Not knowing whether or not this is necessary, I've followed the advice. I'm no longer on the prescription medication; I've settled for Aleve and try to take it twice a day. My pain at this point is minimal when I don't tax the knee too much. As a result, I went to physical therapy without any kind of NSAID/pain reliever in my system. I'd forgotten to take it. And I swear today was the day when I needed it the most. It was the first day I couldn't ignore what she was doing. No amount of staring at the iPod or turning up the volume was going to spare me the pain of this session.

I saw stars a few times because I'd forgotten to breathe. She was so intent on working the leg that at one point she almost fell off of the stool.

Recovery is a team effort. I can't hurt myself enough to bring this knee back. I knew that going in. I chose a physical therapist who could do it for me. My god, she takes no prisoners. I know she's killing me because she knows I can take it. She also knows that I hate when she says, "Relax." That inevitably means she's going to stretch the muscle as far as it will go. Then she'll have me push back. That will then be followed by another order to relax. Each time I relax, she puts her entire being into pushing the muscle into another zip code. I grit my teeth. I clench my fists. I hold my breath. I try not to pee on the table. The pain is that severe. It's going to be a rough night. I can already tell.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.