This is week 7 since my injury and my 13th physical therapy session. I often look to my therapist’s face for clues for how well I am progressing.
“¿Como esta? ¿Como se siente, hoy?” she inquired yesterday. “Do you have pain?”
“No, never,” I answered. “Just the numbness in the outside of my foot and the two toes.”
“How often now?” She inquired.
“All the time,” I said, puzzled. I had thought she understood that. “From when I wake up until I go to bed.”
And then I see it in her face. Doubt. Concern.
“There is something pressing on your nerve, absolutely,” she said seriously. “I am going to gift you time on the compressor to see if we can lengthen the space.”
The compressor is ironically for stretching. It literally pulls at me at my spine between my L4 and L5 area where I have less space than I should. There is a certain torque and timing to it based on my weight and it is not continuous or painful. But it does look like it should be located in the basement of a Spanish castle where the Inquisition Committee has a way of making you talk.
When I finish stretching (without any significant confessions) she has me walk a tight rope figuratively across the room. This is the kind of exercise I would have excelled at before I hurt my back and leg with no problem. But today I teeter, awkwardly lifting up my feet too high and placing my arms out for balance.
“No,” she counsels. “Do it normally.”
Continue reading “Chasing after the weakest movements”