I went to the Fifth Circle of Hell, I mean, Physical Therapy. I did the standard exercises, and continued to bitch after we were done. Physical therapists are accustomed to patients bitching. I wanted to be heard. I was pissed. How is it that it's been three weeks, and I still feel as crappy as I did before the surgery?? Absolutely no improvement.
Resigned, the therapists take a look at the offending part of my leg. After pushing on a couple spots, and being rewarded by my shrieks of pain, they deduce that I have an severely inflamed tendon. Duh! I've only been complaining about it since I set foot in your office.
So, they slapped some goo on the back of my leg and put some sort of little tool on it that emitted ultrasonic waves. For the first time in a long time, I can bend my leg, on my own, without screaming obscenities in various dead languages.
From there, I went and had lunch with my BF Trish, and was reminded why I don't have children. They are good kids, really, but I lack the capacity to understand and communicate on their level. One of which engaged in word salad. Often, I had to ask Trish to translate.
After lunch, I went to her house and they showed me their Wii...which rocks. I'm totally going to get one. Maybe later in the year, like after my vacation. Those bitches are expensive, and I still have two bathrooms to remodel. Maybe I will settle on Guitar Hero until then...
Right now, I'm waiting for the pain meds to kick in so I can go take a nap and see just how well that ultrasound thingie worked. The biggest portion of discomfort I feel is when I'm trying to sleep. Meanwhile, Brother is downstairs, cleaning and mopping up all the Hank slobber. Once in a while, I'll hear him tell Dr. Phil what a douche he is, because that is what happens to be on television.
Just another day at Casa de Heather.