Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
My first visit to the Physical Therapist.
I expected a quick cure; half hour appointment, and violà, pain free.
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
If the early indicators are accurate…
…2010 is going to suck the big one!
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Only 30 Hours to Go
Need to rip down the Christmas decorations so we can put up the Duck decorations!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Boxing Day
‘Tis the day after Christmas, and all through the ‘stead,
Only one creature is stirring, the rest ‘round the house are spread.
The cats are both curled in cute little balls, sleeping off the night’s antics where they climbed up the walls.
Their angelic, sweet faces, so easy to adore, hide the evil-cat dreams I’ve learned to abhor.
And the Saints are snoring as they lay on the bed, thank goodness there are pillows for their tired little heads.
The way their exhausted and unable to play, you’d think they’d spent the night guiding Santa and his sleigh.
And Richard has claimed a small spot ‘twixt the dogs, where he’s nestled in tightly, sawing some logs.
There’s no need to worry about him keeping warm, he’s got living space heaters to keep him from harm.
So, my communication to you on this bleak winter day
Is keep yourselves warm and happy Boxing Day!
Only one creature is stirring, the rest ‘round the house are spread.
The cats are both curled in cute little balls, sleeping off the night’s antics where they climbed up the walls.
Their angelic, sweet faces, so easy to adore, hide the evil-cat dreams I’ve learned to abhor.
And the Saints are snoring as they lay on the bed, thank goodness there are pillows for their tired little heads.
The way their exhausted and unable to play, you’d think they’d spent the night guiding Santa and his sleigh.
And Richard has claimed a small spot ‘twixt the dogs, where he’s nestled in tightly, sawing some logs.
There’s no need to worry about him keeping warm, he’s got living space heaters to keep him from harm.
So, my communication to you on this bleak winter day
Is keep yourselves warm and happy Boxing Day!
Friday, December 25, 2009
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