Thursday, September 10, 2009

Rehab

I can't get this song out of my head. Not the Amy Winehouse version, the hilariously ironic version from the new TV program "Glee."

They told ME I should go to rehab and I said "Yes, yes, YES!" But to be fair, I'm not in for drug or alcohol abuse. Mine is a physical rehab; my issues are strength building and gait training and that's a different culture altogether. Like people in the other kind of program (as I understand it) my rehab program dominates a part of my identity. But it's not my psyche that's challenged. It's my sense of physical being in the world. I * am * walking * correctly. I'll probably never take it for granted again.

The clinic I visit is modern, efficient, precise. My sessions are like having a private trainer only more...medical. Despite slacking off between appointments, mysteriously, I improve.

Physical therapists are without a doubt highly trained professionals. And judging by my experience, they're busy! No wonder the Bureau of Labor Statistics projects that at least until 2016 " job opportunities will be good for licensed physical therapists in all settings...expected to grow 27 percent from 2006 to 2016, much faster than the average for all occupations." They're paid more than journalists, too.

Maybe it IS a little bit addictive: the specialized anatomical vocabulary, my new-found ice pack fetish. Can I gain another 10 degrees of extension this time? Lift another pound? I want to make the handsome therapist smile, laugh, remember me.

They tried to make me go to rehab - they were sooooo right!

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