As promised, I finally returned to P.T.
And for the first night in over a year, I slept for about six straight hours.
And woke up with almost no pain.
That – pain – is a daily companion of mine. I wake with it wagging its tail like the opposite of a welcome house pet who subsequently demands to be acknowledged and dealt with throughout the remainder of the day. Generally, I’ve assumed the role of faking like I’m fine to the outside world (half ‘cause I’ve found scowling doesn’t make the pain abate any and half to hone up my skills for when they finally nominate me for an oscar). But, because of it, I haven’t wanted to actually be part of that outside world much (“It’s not me – it’s you”). Chronic grunt inducing sensations are pretty distracting and exhausting. So, instead of complaining around friends and fam, I’ve just kinda holed away most days like an animal who drags its run over hind legs off through the ditch and into the woods to die respectfully (I always imagine their furry cohorts singing their praises for so stoically completing this act all by their lone). It’s not that I’ve never done that (‘book-venting, I mean – not ditch-dying). That was the person I was for many moons. But, having a wallow-tendency like I do, sometimes I lose sight of what’s aimless complaining and what’s venting. So I just, ya know, avoid altogether. Unless is has a point (like serving as context in a story or someth.) or the promise of an imminent solution.’
I’d finally scheduled to go back to physical therapy this week (after about half a year). And knowing my doc would kick my ass if I didn’t, I started doubling up on the hip realigning exercises he’d given me. That all helped a bit (who’d’ve thunk it), but it wasn’t until I walked outta his office that I felt just as miraculously agony relieved as I was depressed about the fact that they don’t accept my new insurance and this shiz is gonna be costing a small fortune every damned time I go. (Amazing how it costs less to get high off’a painkillers than it does to get normal #conspiracy). But what price can you put on sorcery?
$216 a pop, apparently.
’cause that’s what Dr. R. is – a magician (and no, he doesn’t decide that price, obv.) But “magician” isn’t even sufficient. I’m pretty much 100% sure he actually was born somewhere across the world where the villagers have some ethereal reincarnated holy leader heading them, who they choose Dalai Lama style, and when they pointed Doc outta the playground lineup, he was like, “Naaah… I don’t wanna spark a spiritual revolution and heal the blind ‘n stuff – I wanna go waste my amazing talents doing P.T. in Bumfckk, Virgina. But thanks!”
So, yes. My physical therapist is some kinda Krishna Jesus Buddha John of God wearing a regular dude skin suit and toting a few letters after his name. And maybe that’s where I’m wrong about his eschewing his spiritual revolutionary unique mission. See, for me, he’s helping give my body back to myself – which also inspired me to use my rebooted bod to get back into P.T. myself – as a career, instead of as a patient. What’s that hafta do with anything? Well, it never dawned on me how you can link the inner spiritual stuff with the medical profesh. And he doesn’t do it overtly. It’s not like he sits there talking Deepak Chopra or something. It’s more practical. It’s just that – whereas the tension of every other therapist I’ve ever had is almost palpable – he remains tranquil the whole time he’s working with any patient. It provides the sorta atmosphere that’s conducive to healing. The sort you’d never expect in a med setting where most doctors will match your crappy mood instead of taking the upper hand and helping you elevate yours.
If there were more of that going on, people’d be getting better a helluva lot quicker. So, in a way, him improving lives on a butterfly effect level like he is with his different approach, is pretty effing revolutionary. For a moment, I thought “maybe it’s just me noticing it”. Ya know? Like you find someone who’s a good match? Right energy? Or, like, maybe I was just desperate-in-pain enough to see the good in everyone claiming to be a healer? Even Olga the steamroller masseuse? Nope. This dude’s gonna be starting a side practice. And you wanna know what the owner he works for said? “Oh, let me know when! I’ll send people to you. I’ll send my wife there.” Patients. His own patients that he was willing to send away and lose business. His own wife, even. That’s how you know you’ve got a gift.
So if you live near me and suffer through daily discomfort, give it a go with this Lourdes in human form.
Have your people call my people about calling his people.
Now, if only he could heal the pain in my ass that is shitty insurance.