Off to a good start

First day of physical therapy seemed to be successful.  I still have to be on the crutches for a while, but there is good news.  I can "walk" with them as support.  I essentially have to retrain my feet how to work in unison to make myself more ambulatory than I currently am.  Granted, I am not putting that much pressure on the bum leg, less than 50% if I were to guess.  I support that leg within the walking motion with the crutches.  The fact of the matter is that I am starting to ween myself, with the help of the therapist, off of aided walking and onto a more normal movement pattern.  My quality of life will increase incrementally as the therapy sessions move forward and I will be permitted to do more and more things like a normal person can.  This is good.

Six weeks of PT doesn't seem like all that much, of course, that opinion could change soon depending on the level of success I see.  Luckily I knew the therapist previously to this experience, so I think I am in good shape.  Twice a week I have to go.  Tuesdays and Thursdays until the middle of May.  One down, eleven to go.  I get homework through PT.  Various stretching and slow movement tasks to be performed throughout the day.  Isolating movements in my quadriceps in order to strengthen that region to support my weight as I try to walk normally seems to be the focus thus far.  I haven't gotten any new apparatus with which therapy will be aided, I just have to use a belt or some other strap to aid in lifting the injured limb to a vertical position whilst laying on my back.  That should be fun. 

I got a worksheet with diagrams on it.  On a couple of the pictures the illustrated man seems to have a very morose look on his face.  This is not uplifting.  His head, buried in his arms as he lays face down, is cradled like a child's mid tantrum.  In another, the imagined effort being exerted to contort his body into some Jane Fonda-esque pose seems to be so great that all he can do is stare blankly and accept this torture.  He grimaces with agony as he pulls back on his leg, stretching a group of muscles that obviously has no desire to be stretched.  The man lays on his back, leg bent with the knee aiming for his chest, grasping at the back of the joint like there is a bullet lodged in there.  This is not an inviting worksheet.

My cold pressure cuff is leaving me next week.  I will no longer have the tube and velcro attachment wrapped around my leg for hours at a time.  Can't wait.  That thing is becoming a burden.  Wires and connections are taking up too much floor space, getting in the way of any transportation that I might want to do in the space between my desk and bed.  Not a lot of territory to be covered, mind you, but a lack of hazards is beneficial.  So that means that, within the next week or so, I will be off the machine, weened down with the crutches, and looking to get out of the brace, or at least get into one that moves.  Progress seems to be happening.

SD