Yesterday, The Neanderthal decided he would do some work on my bicep tendon.
My bicep tendon is one of the most fucked up parts of my arm/shoulder.
(And yes, it has been operated on, along with the rest of my arm/shoulder/blah blah blah!)
I do NOT like when The Neanderthal works on, or near, that particular tendon because it hurts like hell. He can touch me just as softly as puppy’s breath and I lose it.
It also hurts (a lot!!) for a couple days after he’s done.
(Other parts of my arm/shoulder/neck/back/upper right quadrant of my body rebound from PT much faster, but not this particular tendon.)
I swear profusely every time he works on it. My eyes get all watery, and if you didn’t know better –
You might even think it makes me cry.
None of these things faze him, in the least.
(I should have blog-named him The Robot. He has absolutely no I’m-sorry-I’m-hurting-you emotions.)
Don’t get me wrong, I really am doing so much better than I was a few months ago.
I’m very grateful to him for that …
But, yeah – ouch!
Yesterday was beautiful here. It felt like summer! I went for a long walk at the lake.
By the way, The Neanderthal told me he “still can’t come up with any words” to describe me.
He didn’t say it in an insulting way. I think I just really baffle him.
I started off shy,
But now –
The things that come out of my mouth can be so unexpected.
(I look like a grown-up, but ….)
Anyway, I’m trying to get him to loosen up. He has these weird ideas about trying to stay professional around me.
It will never work.
(I think I’m starting to wear him down. I’ve caught him smiling, and even laughing, more and more often.)
We did have one “issue” this week, though.
Yesterday, I was a few feet away from him (talking to his assistant) when I overheard The Neanderthal on the phone.
He was talking about me.
I first clued in when I heard, “She’s had eight surgeries.”
My ears immediately perked up.
Then he said “it’s the most complicated case” he’s ever seen.
Right away, I knew eavesdropping was very, very, important.
Who was he talking to?
What was he doing?
Why was I the topic of conversation?
Then I heard him say,
“She’ll be flying in on Friday. She could see you that afternoon. Saturday would work if you don’t have time Friday afternoon. She can see you on Monday too.”
I started shaking my head “no” furiously!!
The problem is, The Neanderthal had his back to me and couldn’t see me shaking my head no.
What is he doing? my brain screamed, repeatedly.
I fly to San Francisco in about a week, and The Neanderthal was making PT appointments for me up in San Francisco!!
I’m not going to San Francisco for physical therapy.
I’m going to San Francisco as an excuse to get AWAY from physical therapy.
He didn’t even ask me if I WANTED to go to PT while I’m away from him.
I, obviously, had to stop him before it was too late.
I started jumping up and down, and furiously waving my good arm in the air.
His assistant looked at me, puzzled.
Then she glanced over at The Neanderthal talking on the phone, and got an “aha!” look on her face.
I continued to jump around like a lunatic.
I vigorously continued waving one arm in the air.
I shook my head no so briskly, it’s a wonder it didn’t fall off my neck.
The Neanderthal calmly, and unemotionally , took in my antics as he continued talking.
“I don’t want you to attempt any strengthening. Absolutely no strengthening exercises. I just want to maintain her mobility while she’s away.”
Then he turned his back to me and I heard him muttering something about “camera” and “photography” and grumble, grumble.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???
As The Neanderthal went on, attempting to book appointments,
The issue of payment came up.
The Neanderthal frowned as Miss San Francisco PT/A.R.T. Specialist mentioned the extremely astronomical (outlandish!) rates she planned to charge an out of towner for visits I didn’t even want.
As I continued to sputter and furiously shake my head “no,”
The Neanderthal frowned into his phone, and then frowned some more.
“OK then,” he finally said, “I think I’ll have her call you herself to make some appointments.”
Then he hung up and said, “Miss San Francisco PT’s rates are ridiculous.”
He went on to say he thinks I should just wait, and see him as soon as I get back into town.
“That’s what I was planning to do,” I tried to explain.
The Neanderthal looked at me, puzzled.
“But you’ll be using your camera the entire time you’re there,” he said matter of factly.
“You’re going to NEED treatment.”
( . . . long pause . . . )
The Neanderthal took my arm,
He gently felt around my wires and electrodes, and then he resumed my PT session.