Well I didn't get old on purpose!!!

Recently my rhuematologist said those words that I'd been dreading, "Deb, it's time for you to start physical therapy". Oh, I know it's something that I need to do. And I'm the first to admit that it would be nice to be able to stand up long enough to cook dinner. Not that the veiw from my kitchen floor isn't interesting, but it's really hard to reach the stove when I'm sitting on the floor waiting for my back to unlock. I also understand that arthritis and degenerating discs will be easier to control if I teach my muscles to compensate for the weakness in my bones. My brain tells me all these things but yet a little voice in the back of my head says, "Oooooooooooh, this is gonna hurt soooooooo bad".

The first step was to call the PT office and get an appointment. When a chipper, young voice answered the phone, I reminded myself that it would be unreasonable to hate her just because I have house plants that are older than she is. I gave her my name and the name of my rhuematologist and explained that I was calling to set up an appointment. She was really sweet and started thru the questions to set up my file. We got thru my name, address, age, etc and then she asked, "Why do you need to see a physical therapist? Is it the result of an accident?"

I couldn't help myself. I blurted out, "Well, I didn't get old on purpose!".

She may be young but her reflexes aren't that great coz I heard her burst out laughing before she could hit the mute button on her phone.

With my appointment scheduled, I had a few days to think about the whole thing. The biggest initial obstacle was convincing myself that I could leave the house and go out in public wearing sweat pants.

When the big day arrived, my hubby drove me to the appointment. When I walked in the door the first thing that caught my eye were all the machines. Row upon row of shiny machines. BIG shiny machines. Machines with bars and straps and belts and pulleys. I immediately had a flashback to 8th grade World History and the pictures in my textbook of the torture devices used during the Spanish Inquisition.

My hubby may not be young but he still has good reflexes and managed to grab the back of my shirt when I bolted for the door. As he pulled me back thru the door I hissed, "Fine. But if that therapist's name tag says Torquemada, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Turns out his name is Dave and he's a very nice young man. He didn't make me use any of the torture devices since it was my first visit. We'll be doing those later this week. He pointed to one that has straps and pulleys on it and said that would be the one we'd start on. I'm going to Google it just to be sure it's not a new version of the Rack.

The good thing is that since the therapy is focusing on my back right now, it doesn't effect my hands and I can still work on my minis. I'm adding a line of day beds to Deb's Minis and finished three of them already. I always get delighted when I do something new. My muse and I spent about four hours playing with designs for bolster pillows before I had a Eureka! moment and scared the cat again. I'm happy with the end results of the day beds. Now if I could just figure out how to shrink myself down and snuggle in those soft pillows for a nice nap.