I had a follow up visit with my orthopedic surgeon last week. After watching me negotiate my crutches, he wrote a note to my dance instructor (code for Physical Therapist). The note contained a bunch of medical mumbo-jumbo that basically stated:
MAKE HER CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL.
Then he foolishly gave the note to me to give to the P.T. Not unlike the notes the nuns used to hand to me regarding my classroom behavior, and expected me to take home to my parents.
Thankfully, in this case, a cooler and more mature head prevailed and I actually made certain that the note arrived in its original state to the intended recipient. Although, in my mind, THE DOG ATE IT would have worked just fine. If we had a dog. Besides Jensen, that is.
My orthopedic surgeon wants to see more mobility in my knee by the time he returns from vacation.
Don’t we all.
My dance instructor did indeed made me think up all manner of colorful curse words as I got through our sessions this last week. As well I’ve gone back to the gym to work out on the machines designed for the elderly and infirm.
Well. Okay. They are also designed for leg rehab. But still, I’m the youngster in the group, to be sure. I just make certain to have my iPod earbuds pushed as far into my ear canal as possible to drown out the horror stories of knee replacement and gout.
After my leg immobilizer was removed, I could bend my leg to about a 20 degree angle. Now, I’m up to 92 degrees. Which means several things: I can now close the bathroom door without leaving my leg hanging dangling out in the open, I can fit my leg not only into my van, but ALSO THE PRIUS (which gives me more traveling options), AND I can now use my left leg to maneuver the parking brake.
Oh, and I can tie my own shoe without fear of all the blood rushing to my brain causing certain unconsciousness. Although, unconsciousness? It is not a bad state to be in.
I am encouraged with my progress. Although it feels rather slow to me. I’m down to one crutch, for the most part. Except for excursions to Wal-Mart. But I did qualify for a temporary handicapped parking decal, which I have to say I’m going to miss when I’m back on my feet again. There’s nothing quite like V.I.P. parking at Wal-Mart.
This week I’m shooting for 96 degree knee mobility. And then look out fitness class, here I come. I may singlehandedly set Zumba back a decade or two, but I’ve got some totally mad dance skilz I’ve been dying to bust out.
How else is my orthopedic surgeon going to pay for his vacation?