Today was my first day of going for physical therapy to the new branch of the hospital down the road from me. Though I went dressed appropriately for getting right down to it, today was simply an hour of talking about the history of my back and neck injuries, diagnoses, and pain. We made it up to 2005 before our session was over. I'm not kidding! My new therapist was very thorough, and he was a really nice guy, just like everyone else there. It helps that he was a Caps fan, too. ;-)
I've been to this location a few times, because it is the most convenient place for me to have blood drawn and X-rays taken. I could walk there from my house, though today I did not. I had another appointment on the heels of this one. When I walked in the door, one of the ladies who works in registration waved and greeted me. "How are you today, sweetie?" she asked. Nice.
The man who handles appointments for the physical rehabilitation department was likewise nice and remembered me, as well. We chatted about our dogs while he photocopied everything but my birth certificate. He has a Dacshund and a Dalmation. We talked about how beautiful it is to walk the dogs in the springtime and about the multitude of rabbits and groundhogs around the neighborhood. When the therapist came to get me, he introduced me to the other therapist, who is from Bulgaria and is taking his test to get licensed here. He was already licensed in Bulgaria. He asked about the origin of my name, because it's definitely not a typical Anglo-Saxon name. It's originally a Czechoslovakian name, though my husband's ancestors emigrated from Hungary. The borders are very fluid in that area of the world, so I'm told, especially back in the late 19th century when the ancestors left home.
I used to tell people that it was a Hungarian name, but I was set straight by a little Russian woman I met in a bank once. She was asking about my last name, "Where from?" I told it was Hungarian.
"Nyet! No," she corrected me. "Not Hungarian. Czech. Definitely Czech."
So there you go. A little research convinced me that she was probably right. So Czech it is.
My therapist isn't Czech. He's all-American and also thinks that the Caps were robbed in Game 7. He took his time with me and asked me all kinds of questions. He made me feel validated. For example, he told me that from my history and spinal problems, he's surprised I can still work and commended me for doing so and for coming to therapy to try to get some strength and flexibility back. He also talked about what I can expect from therapy and that with the gentle moves we'll be using, I shouldn't have an increase in pain. That's good news!
By the time I left, I felt that I had found the right place to spend a couple of day a week for the next 10 weeks. Certainly no one can say that I haven't tried all conservative measures. I was going through the list in my mind yesterday of the things I've tried in order to keep going: trigger point injections, epidural injections, facet nerve shots, nerve ablation (not doing that one again), chiropractic, massage therapy, Chinese herbs, acupuncture, yoga, strength training (didn't work out so well), and medication. This won't be the first time I've done PT either. But it is nice to know that I won't have a long drive to get there.
And such nice people! The last time I was there for blood work, my husband went with me. When we were leaving, he chuckled and said, "Friends of yours?"
I guess I have a little bit of my mother in me. I like making conversation with people. We are all connected. I'd like to think I'm as friendly in person as I am in my blog. And I'm always looking for new friends.
Peace - D