It would be easy to somehow work in a story about the last
time I used the term “about an 8” was when I was describing my wife’s
attractiveness. But that would put me in
that despicable group of people who break human beings down on some simple
numerical scale. It would also mean that
I would not be calling my wife a 10, which if I was a guy who labeled women in
such a way shouldn’t I be? Suffice it to
say that when asked to describe my pain while at my second PT appointment, I
whispered through tightly gritted teeth, “about an 8”. Don’t think I had ever been there before.
I’ll admit to being demoralized even when she asked me to do
as many straight-legged lifts as possible, quitting at 20, far more than she
expected, due to the overwhelming pain. It has been a week. I should be dancing, or at least down-hill
skiing.
But, after struggling to just get back into the house,
jumping my OXY level to 15 mgs with a 500 mg Tylenol, things got BETTER. Diligently following a three-hour pain-med
routine with two more workouts led by Carol (who as a wife is like, a 12) I
felt better and was able to move things easier and with less pain. Could this the corner that is always eventually
turned in my healing process?
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