From the land of Bankart repair with love. #notreally

Truth: I hate physical therapy. I’m probably going to hear from everybody I’ve ever known who is related to, married to, thought about becoming a PT. I like my PT. He’s quirky. I’m quirky. It’s a good fit. He makes his own beer and apparently made some huge tap/kegging system in the basement of his house.

PT is the test of patience. I’m not patient. I’m beyond not patient. I’m like I had surgery 3 weeks ago and why can’t my shoulder be normal now not patient. (Never mind it took a solid 90 minutes for the surgeon to clean OUT the debris before he could repair the labral tear). I’m frustrated and bored.

There is a downside for taking those mid-day appointments. I’m surrounded by the Real Housewives Of crowd and people old(er) than my grandmother. I was laying there letting my pt stretch my shoulder in the limits and one of his other patients came in and was waiting with her ankle encased in a heat pack. I wasn’t talking and trying to remember that key idea of exhaling on the stretch and he asked her how she was because I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to talk.

PT: How was it last week after you left.
ROP (random old person): Well, I had a touch of food poisoning from something. And then, let me think, on Friday I had a root canal. Oh, and yesterday was the worst I
PT: (obvious this was not the right answer). Uh, xxxx, when I say how was it after last week, I’m talking just about your ankle.
ROP: Oh, my ankle? It’s fine. I just am having issues with (something even I won’t put on a blog).

Ok, I *get* that when you drop a few anchors in to the labrum, the not so patient patient has to wait for the anchor to secure to the bone. I get that I’m wildly lucky that the swelling has decreased a ton and there is more and more passive range. I’m somewhat twisted in that I’m happy that I get to line up an excercise ball that has Dora’s face on it and give her a few black eyes. I’d prefer Barney but apparently those kept disappearing.

I have no patience. I leave my 2x pt sessions frustrated because although the guy next to me who is 16 weeks out his Bankart repair was telling me the progress ramp and I can ‘see’ I’m on target (which for shoulders is the key . . . there isn’t an acceleration curve) and he’s there one day a week the same time as me. I get the creaking is normal. It doesn’t hurt it’s just sort of unnerving.

The little steps of using the arm bike with my left arm (holding on only with my right arm) is progress. I’m on a short(er than normal in PT) fuse. I wanted to rip the cell phone out of the hands of a scantily clad ring heavy enough to break a finger trophy wife of the metro-west. I get you are busy and have to take child to-from some random event. But I don’t need to hear about it. Text. Or better yet: that sign that says “do not use cell phones in treatment areas” follow it. (Her PT corralled her drama).

As much as I enjoyed the conversation with the guy who had a similar surgery, he’s facing two more months of PT. I wanted to cry. That’s my life right now. PT, ice, walking around the neighborhood if the shoulder is ok enough, icing. I don’t think I realized how much my non-dominant shoulder is involved in so much of what I do on a daily basis.

And I keep telling myself: Bankart’s are 6 months to return to pre-surgery. One month (almost) down; 5 to go.

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