Hilda has this card. On one side is (:)) on the other side is (:().
That’s an evil device to use.
I plan on stealing it.
I’ve only had PT once, when I had cervical vertebral problems. Each session consisted of heat packs, massage, and then an intermittent traction machine. It felt sooooo good, absolutely heavenly. You need a PT like mine.
The one time I had PT, after the 3 strokes, they had to teach me to walk again. I never ran into anyone like Hilda, and if I had, she would have been informed that her services were no longer needed, and to send in her replacement.
Professionals work FOR you, when that stops, they are GONE.
Like I said, hospitals hate me.
We’ll be dealing with this in May, after spousal unit’s NINTH spinal surgery. This one will be the most extensive, so they’re keeping him in rehab till he can successfully complete 3 hours of PT per day. I’m hoping they pay attention to his refusal to admit he hurts (except to me) - I know he’ll be antsy to get out, but I worry that he’ll try to push too far. I’ll talk to all involved when the time comes.
Old farts can be particularly cantankerous! 
Hang in the Becks! Deep cleansing breaths and all that. You’ll be back on your home turf in no time!
Hope you get better real soon Beck.
When I went through it, I started calling all of them physical terrorists!
I was in pretty rough shape and in pain, my smarta** was strong and it slipped out.
At first they were a little peeved with the comment, especially when some of the other patients starting using it too. Within a day or so, they embraced the new title and started using it themselves.
I do feel like they let up a tad bit though!
Good luck!
Well…I had a session this morning. I’m cranky in the mornings on a good day. I was positively antisocial this morning because I didn’t sleep well.
I angered my way thru the therapy.
Hilda gave me a (:)) card.
:smack:
Physical therapists have to channel their inner Nazi prison guard. Because
[ul][li]physical therapy is hard,[/li][li]it hurts, and[/li][li]ya gotta do it.[/ul]So they use IME a mix of cajoling, yelling, praise, and an complete indifference to human suffering, to get the job done. [/li]
My physical therapist wasn’t Hilda. It was Mary. Mary was apparently about thirteen years old, disgustingly upbeat. relentless, and greeted my howls of anguish and accusations that she was working for the CIA heading up the “Enhanced Interrogation Division” with a cheery “Oh, Mr. Shodan, I like working with you because you’re so funny! Now let’s do it again.”
Irritatingly enough, it helped.
Darn kids.
Regards,
Shodan
My PTS after surgery were OK once they stopped YELLING. They weren’t yelling AT me, but they were used to working with elderly patients who couldn’t hear. Sitting next to me on the bed, yelling right in my ear. Sheesh. Jumping, recoiling, covering my ear(s), and looking at them in shock got the point across.
That’s how it’s supposed to work. If it isn’t pissing you off, it’s not working.
Ya done good. The only way out of Hell is through Hilda, and you’re doing it.
Using “pissed-off-ed-ness” to motivate you through Physical Therapy is really the only way to power through it.
That’s why I gave all therapist and therapy assistants villain names.
I felt so sorry for one young man, he had NO idea of who my villains were. I tried to name him “Gollum,” and he didn’t know who that was! Acckkk!
We settled on “Lex Luthor.”
There are two college kids, one boy, one girl, working with Snidely Whiplash. I told them they are Boris and Natasha.
But first, I had to explain Rocky and Bullwinkle…
The receptionist/therapy assistant has long black hair. I’ve named her Morticia.
Use whatever works for you!
~VOW
dispatch from rehab
First off this place is full of men. I’ve not seen one other female patient. The nurses and aides are predominantly female.
Hilda has a walking protcol. She instructed me to walk the corridors and not sit on my fanny in bed. To walk you have to go to the nurse’s window and get a panic button. If you go outside, (in the beautiful park like setting they built for, who knows what!!) it alarms and, I presume, orderlies come tackle you and tell you to stay on the blue line on the floor.:smack:
I wonder if I’m in a minimum security prison?
I might’ve broke some law and just have amnesia or something. But I have this huge incision. Hmmm?
So…it seems every other patient is walking the corridors. I’m at the end of one such hallway. The inmates make a turn right in front of my door. All of them have given me a look over.
I’ve been telling people who come in to close the door when they leave. But sometimes it’s left open.
I’m gonna make a sign “Selfies with Beck=$2” I could clean up. Make alittle dough. Yep. Gonna do it.
Today I’ve had some lab work done. My insulin pump changed out. My hair washed*. A visit with the surgeon. He told me to quit being bad and do my therapy.
Imma make a little sign for him. Yep, gonna do it.
The food has been exceptionally good. Tonight it’s Stroganoff. Just Stroganoff. Not ‘Beef Stroganoff’ I’m a bit concerned about that. We’ll see when it gets here.
Imma make a little sign if it’s shitty. Yep, gonna do it.
*it took 3 of us to wash my hair. Me, DIL and a nurse. We got it done. Made a big wet mess. I can’t really comb it out with my gimpy arms. It’s no telling what it looks like. I’m afraid to look.:eek:
Living life on the end of blue line:
b.
Ask DIL to stop by Staples and pick up a few reams of 3x5 cards and a box of markers.
You’ll need to make a shit-ton of signs,
Oh, hey! You’ll probably need several rolls of duct tape to post those signs. Unless you prefer nails? very evil grin
(Dammit, I TOLD you Hilda and the surgeon had dinner together! She probably wore leather and carried a whip?)
~VOW
And you REALLY should have cut your hair!
Off!
~VOW
Perhaps dinner is <insert name of patient that didn’t do Hilda’s PT list> Stroganoff?:eek:
It sounds to me like you *are *doing your physical therapy. What’s the doctor’s problem?
~VOW, I’m seeing the wisdom of your words.
Dag-nabbit.
This always happens to me.
Teela, Doctor was talking about me complaining.
Now, did you wake up in a bathtub full of ice, with a note taped to you about missing a kidney? 
You are in Arkansas. Maybe it’s possum.
Eewww!! Roadkill Stroganoff.
It was good whichever it was. (:))
Possum, raccoon, squirrel…or nutria.
Num num!
~VOW
Why am I picturing chef Gordon Ramsay shouting “You donkey!” on "Hell’s Kitchen?
Not at a contestant–rather, at a dish!