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At least he didn't use a cattle prod...

He hit me with a hard rubber end of a hammer-like thing and smiled. I jumped. It hurt. Was it supposed to hurt? Why would he hit me like that unless he wanted to hurt me? And why was smiling like that? What sadistic person is this that has come into my life?

Sadly, that was just the beginning of the pain I endured at Kyle's hands today. He poked at me, he twisted me around, he forced me up some stairs...down some stairs and when he was done with that pansy easy stuff, he HOOKED ME UP TO SOME ELECTRIC CURRENT AND COVERED MY LEG IN AN ICE WATER FILLED PLASTIC CUFF AND MADE ME LAY THERE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES WHILE THE ELECTRIC CURRENT ZAPPED ME!

Yes, I began physical therapy today. It is not for the weak. It's not even for the strong. It's just for us damaged folk who haven't been able to walk right in two months.

Kyle is a nice--albeit bossy--physical therapist. I suppose he's got to be the pushy type in order to make recalcitrant patients like myself do things that aren't exactly comfortable and are in fact down right difficult. I was, in fact, quite amenable to all he asked me to do.

I know, go figure. Me being cooperative. You should all pause here for a minute, bow your heads and take a deep breath. A moment of silence wouldn't be too much to ask for this monumental milestone in my life. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Done? Good.

While I didn't understand everything Kyle, he of the bulging muscles and tight t-shirt said to me, I did get this: right leg is 130% of something something something and the damaged left leg can only go to 70% of something something something.

Hey, I warned you that I didn't understand all of it, ok? Ok. All I know is we have a lot of work ahead of us, and by 'us' I mean me. The one laying on a table and sweating while I try to make my leg do things it would rather not do.

My leg would rather be on a warm beach somewhere, with it's toes tickling the toasty surf and being pampered but nooooooooooo. It gets to be semi-electrocuted twice a week for at least six weeks.

Don't be jealous. It's unbecoming. Seriously.


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