PT and Selfies

Coco takes a selfie—blurry but deep and emotive—right?

My first non-eval day in outpatient physical therapy did not go well. No, I didn’t splat on my face or anything typical like that but, in the piddling few weeks between home and outpatient, I’ve lost a lot of strength. I did my bed level exercises nearly every day but I didn’t get in as much walking. Plus, my fall-a-thon coincided with home PT’s end. Yup, it was a weakness sparking tempête de merde. So, where to now Saint Peter? Outpatient PT only lasts a couple months and I don’t want to spend all of it trying to reach where home PT left off.

First, I’m gonna do walking (with walker) laps of the first floor every day. This is a small house but it’s a start. Once I’m up to a half dozen rounds maybe Ten can wheel me down to the seawall (the seawall’s sidewalk is nice and smooth) for an extended (for me) jaunt.

Equally deep dragon selfie

Second—marching in place. I need my walker and Ten spotting me but I gotta do this daily. My home PTs didn’t want me doing this without them BUT I think Ten can spot me just fine. OK, maybe a combo of Ten and Jen.

I’m trying to duck getting all disheartened and shit. If I’m gonna walk again, be able to go to the can on my own, stand at my easel and paint once more, etc., etc., I need to get on the stick—NOT let any more time pass me by.

I see my neurologist, Doc Plotkin, on Thursday. I’ll get the scoop on my next mondo meningioma then. I’m hoping, of course, that he won’t be sending me, tout de suite, to see my fave cutter, Doc Barker. At this point I’d welcome a ‘let’s wait and see.’

I need to catch the fuck up, recovery wise, before I jump back in the OR ring.