My new Physical Therapist turned 30 years old today. His name is Nicolai. Well, it isn’t actually; but for all practical purposes, we will call him that. Tuesday, he manipulated my back and neck muscles to the point that this morning, I was at a 6 on the 1 – 10 pain scale. My normal pain level has been around a 4 – so Nicolai was not on my “people I want to see” list. Still, I had a 7:30am PT appointment and I showed up at 7:20, like a responsible patient does. There were balloons and a big “Happy 30th Birthday” sign in the office. I asked the receptionist whose birthday it was and she told me that it was Nicolai’s. She also told me that his mom had told her that he used to carry a Big Bird around as a kid, so the girls in the office decided to get him a Big Bird.
When Nicolai walked in around 7:29am, he saw the Big Bird, walked out and asked the question, “Who talked to my mom?” I felt sorry for the guy. I mean, seriously, hard to be respected as a medical professional when your mom tells everyone about your unusual attachment to a giant yellow bird. I broke the tension by saying, “It wasn’t me; but Happy Birthday to you and your big yellow friend.” This comment was given some courtesy laughter by the peanut gallery – if not Nicolai.
I followed him into the therapy room where he told me to lie down on my back. I pointed out to him that I was wearing leggings under my skirt to avoid any awkward moments and he laughed. As soon as his hands touched my shoulders he knew that Tuesday’s manipulations had done a number on me. This meant that I got to be wrapped in a cocoon of heating pads before therapy could begin. Woo-hoo!
I love being wrapped in a heating pad cocoon. It is so warm and comfy. I was able to lie there for 15 minutes, just relaxing – then the timer went off and evil Nicolai came back in to torture my poor abused body. First he stole away the cocoon – then he manipulated muscles in my neck and shoulders that are not supposed to be touched by human hands. THEN – to top it all off, he warned me that I may be “sore later” and to feel free to put heat on it. Bloody Hell!
I guess instead of complaining, I should just be happy that a 30 year old man put his hands on me today.
By the way – there is an intern in our building who looks almost exactly like Prince Harry. I wonder if he’s 21.
PERSONAL NOTE TO A FRIEND: You can’t handle the truth!
