It’s been 13 days since my arthroscopic surgery. It’s flown by partly because of pain meds, partly because of physical therapy, and partly because of blogging and design. Mostly, it’s because of the the Chamber of Torture.
What is this chamber of torture? It’s where sadistic people rule. They tell you what to do and how to do it, and they inflict pain on you when your body gets used to the abuse. Also…you’re the masochist who keeps coming back.
If you thought I was referring to a room where Christian Grey is the dominatrix, you are mistaken. I’m referring to…physical therapy. Twice a week since the day after my surgery I’ve been going to physical therapy, and paying them to inflict pain on me.
First, I’m laid on my back with a cylinder under my knees and forced to raise my left leg. 20 times. Twice. At first it was painful. Then I worked through it and it got better. When the dominatrix realized it no longer hurt, an ankle weight was added. Curses.
Then when you get a chance to breathe, you’re moved to Exhibit A: “The Rack.” This is an alternate of the table routines in the
physical therapy clinic Chamber of Torture. Here you are asked to use your injured limb and push your body weight so your seat slides. When the dominatrix realizes this is no longer painful, they add resistance. Curses.
Then, you think you’ll get a respite. The primary-school colors trick you into thinking you’ll do a kid-friendly activity. Nope. You’re asked to kick back. 20 times. Twice. Curses.
After that, I’m asked to stand in front of the stationary bike, facing those fun colors again. I am starting to associate colors with torture at this point. I’m instructed to stand on one leg in front of this. On my leg with the bad knee. If that weren’t enough, I then have to stand on my tippy toes with all my weight on that bad knee. 20 times. Twice. &*#$@&$%@#$!
After an hour of these exhausting exercises, the dominatrix puts an ice pack on my knee. In a mixture of pain and relief, I like this last tool of torture.
As I get ready to leave the Chamber of Torture, the dominatrix gives me a sinister smile. And through her teeth, she says “See you on Thursday.” And I kick myself because I know that, yes, I WILL be back. And I will pay money to come back.
Ain’t that the pits?
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