Wednesday morning, as I was driving to my 7 a.m. physical therapy appointment, I found myself in a really, really bad mood. My mind was dwelling on the fact that I still had two and a half more weeks of P.T. I was tired of the three-times-per-week commitment in addition to the exercises I do at home twice a day. I placed my daily check-in call to my mom and I found myself kvetching to her about it. I could tell I was boring her to tears and I was beginning to get on my own nerves.
After ending our call I started thinking about the folks who were killed and injured in Boston this week. So many people lost limbs. I bet they would be HAPPY to have a foot to rehab. Thinking of the pain and agony they are going through, I realized my situation pales in comparison. I decided right then and there to get over myself. I arrived at my session and worked hard. My therapist was none the wiser.
During this morning’s session I fessed up. My therapist told me she sees a lot of patients who make it known by their words and their actions (actually, by a lack of actions) that they don’t want to be there. I never whine during my sessions. It’s my choice to follow the orders written for my rehab. Complaining isn’t going to make the session go any faster. It certainly won’t endear me to my therapist and believe me, I want her support.
I know if I take it one day at a time, therapy will be over before I know it and I’ll be stronger for having completed it.