Listening to the Voices in My Head

I have a week off from my exercise therapy due to me attempting to carve a chunk out of my hand on Christmas day. Saw her yesterday, and she made up for lost time, and I wish my legs belonged to someone else. To say they hurt would be an understatement. Hot shower, and some ibuprofen to the rescue.

Wing has been spending his last few days of vaycay taking care of the yard. It's so tidy I could host a party... that's if I could hold anything.

Also saw physiotherapist, and I seem to be improving his vocabulary. He asked how I was feeling, and I said "an overwhelming feeling of ennui." He had to look up the word ennui.

But I'm not. For the past two weeks, I have been keeping up with the scheduled exercises at him, as much as I can. I don't have the reformer, or pulley set up, but I do have free weights. 3 sets of 10, every other day. Not just Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But also Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

I might take the up coming weekend off as I had one helluva painful shoulder blade lock up post exercise shower. It hurt to breathe! I managed to loosen things up (and breathe), and get myself sort of ready for the day.

Why? Because, in the long run, it will be good for me. But right now, today, after seeing Meg, then Simon (exercise and physio therapists) I feel as if I have been dropping in a food processor equipped with blunt blades.

I thought Simon the Sadist was a tough physio-therapist. That isn't anything compared to him as an exercise therapist. As an exercise therapist, he makes you push yourself, but not to the point you cause damage.

Picture this: while getting ready to do a session on the reformer, of which there are two of them, our typical exchange.

Simon: Ok, we're going to work on the abs today.
Me: Sure, you may proceed.
Simon: Alright, we can both do them.
Me: (looking down at one of the reformers) I don't think we'll both fit.

(I get myself settled and start doing the prescribed exercise)

Simon: How many was that?
Me: I don't know. Keeping count is YOUR job!

(climbing off reformer, and there is NO graceful way of doing so, trust me)

Simon: So, what's you plans for today?
(I make grand hand gesture pointing towards him)
Simon: And the rest of the week?
(repeat first gesture)

He had me do some laps around the place, hold 3kg weights in each hand.

My hand are so sore today, along with the abs running down along the ribs... and my shoulders. He needs to pad the shoulder stops, because I wear an anti-gravity device (aka bra) and those stops really make the straps dig in.

Doesn't do a damned thing.

I went to bed early, because I had an appointment to see my exercise therapist. I groggily get up, manage to get dressed. Staggered off to get first cup of coffee in the morning. In between sips of coffee, got my hair brushed and braided. Readied by bottle of cold water, and when 8am rolled around, we hit the road.

I get there, and get asked why I am there. I tell the 'receptionist in training' that I have an 8:30am session with Meg. She said no I didn't. Uhh, I have been seeing Meg on Monday and Friday for the past almost 2 months (exception when it was a Wednesday and Friday, because Monday was a holiday.)

Now, I had/have the card with the appointment times and dates, but I put them on my phone and left the card on my desk.

We get shown the door. I found out the hard way and stress and agitation fires up the old GERD. I came home. Took photograph of my appointment card, and emailed it to them. By now, I have chewed two antacid tablets.

2 hours later, I get this weak, wishy-washy excuse that Simon, my physiotherapist deleted the appointment. How he has access my exercise therapists' calendar is beyond me.

So, here I am, trying to stay calm. Even took a short nap. But I am still gritting my teeth. If *I* cancelled an appointment without notifying them, I would get charged some fee. But they can do it to ME and I just have to let it slide.