We Don't Call it Torture Anymore-it's Called Physical Therapy

     As physical therapy sessions approach again, flashbacks of my first session flood to my mind.  April was the month I began my first voluntary torture showdown.   Me versus induced pain.  It was a crap shoot which one was to win on those first visits.  Never having experienced physical therapy before, I had no expectations.  My bag of bones was petrified into the shape of a chair position.  Barely moving for over three months, muscle atrophy and inflexibility scolded my frail, skinny frame.  I had in this position since my car crash.   

     Pure terror consumed my mind over a stranger touching my ankles.  Unable to bear the thought of multiple strangers working on me, I asked to be scheduled with one therapist only.  Trust was essential in my participation.  As I sat in that cheap, blue contraption known as a wheelchair, my therapist asked what I wanted to achieve from therapy.  My desperate answer, " I want you to challenge and push me.  I want to live as closely to my previous activity as possible.  I want to walk," I declared.  Examining my x-rays and listening to me reveal my last three months made us both sigh.  "What is he going to do with me?" I speculated.  "What am I going to do with her?" he reciprocated in his own mind.  (he later divulged this to me)

     Transferring to a cot that butted up against a concrete wall, I was advised to lie on my back.  "Flat?" I asked incredulously.  My waist and pelvis were rebelling against the action.  Each part of my anatomy liked the position it was in, they didn't moved independently anymore.  Leaving my knees bent and lowering myself down to my left side, I met the white cot with my shoulder and rolled to my back.  I'm sweating.  My 'inducer of pain'  pushed my knees to the mattress and my lower back revolted by awkwardly arching upward. 

      "Roll to your stomach," was his next instruction.  My face went blank as if I didn't understand what he was saying.  "On my stomach?", I am appalled.  First off, my legs are in braces, I haven't rolled anywhere in months, my pelvis and lower back pain is atrocious and he wants me to roll over?  Terrible, just terrible is what this movement was.  To make it worse he asked me to then push up on my elbows.  He measured the angle my torso was able to bend.  I had barely moved. 

      "Are we done yet?", I prayed.   Perspiration rolled in droplets down my spine.  Plank like, I rolled to my back again and he announced he was going to stretch my ankles.  Like hell!  Oh no.  NO, NO NO NO and NO.  Don't go there.  Stay away, don't touch them.  Don't even look at them.  No. 

      "Okay," I sulked instead.  Just removing my socks was a time consuming chore as he stared at the damage.  As I sat upright with my legs stretched out to the end of the cot, he spelled out that he needed to extend my ankles downward.  Pushing down on the tops of my feet was the only way to regain movement.  I am panicked.  I don't want to do this, My God, I don't want to do this.  "Let's do this,"  I state with false enthusiasm.   

     My eyes squeezed shut as hot pain seared from my ankles up to my lower legs at the lightest push.  His hands shifted my feet downward even more.  My palm met the concrete wall to my right with a smack, sweaty with fingers splayed apart.  "Dear God!" I screamed inside.  The sound of my bones moving was nauseating as if they were breaking apart all over again.  Reciting internally that I could handle this was the only thing I could do to keep from sobbing. I wanted to sob, it was right there ready to bellow out.
 

 I can describe the feeling only as if my ankles were encased on old, crumbling concrete for a decade.  Now they were being removed from this unforgiving home.  Popping, grinding and my own gasps engulfed me.  Taking myself back to the pain that fateful night as I awoke in the car, I thought that surely today's anguish couldn't be as dreadful.  Could it?

     My nose began to run with tears that I refused to let fall.  A half sob, half laugh escaped me as my fingers clawed at the cold, beige  wall while he held my stretched ankles down for ages.  "That's enough for today," he admonished.  Air rushed out of my lungs as I sighed with relief.  My shoulders slumped and my head leaned against the wall as he strapped my braces back to my legs.  Throwing a narrow side glance his direction as he asked how my first visit went, said as much as if I had uttered the words aloud.  

     Leaving with sheets of exercises to perform at home, I started making my goals list as Mom wheeled me to the truck.  Determination set it's long talons inside of me right then.  Today, I have stopped surviving this trauma and started recovering from it.
Let's do this!

 #PCRMC Success Story!

Carey Portell 2011

My accident occurred on December 29, 2010.  I was hit by a drunk driver that luckily only left me with severe bone injuries.  The most severe were a pelvic ring fracture and severe bilateral ankle fractures.

All bones in my left ankle were broken and dislocated, causing the nerves to tear.  This left no feeling from the ankle down.

I had an open tibia/fibula fracture and all bones were crushed so severely in my right ankle that the physicians could not save all of the splinters.  I still have gaps that are trying to grow back in.

After many surgeries and lots of metal installed, I was put back together and able to start therapy.  With the help of my therapist, I was able to start stretching out my body from being in a wheelchair for so long.  Most exciting was learning to walk again.  Just to stand on my own two feet was exhilarating.

My choice of coming here for therapy is a confident one. The therapists have not just helped me physically, but mentally as well.  Some days are a challenge and you just need to hear someone else tell you that you can do this, then show you that you can.  I am in pain every day, but look forward to therapy days because I know I will be met with a smile from every staff member & I will be challenged to progress in my #recovery.  I leave with a feeling of accomplishment & that I can win this fight. 

 

Lessons: Constantly Humbled

Humbled

     As we race through our lives we tend to get ahead of ourselves.  We are sometimes too confident, don't take the time to show the respect others deserve or feel jealousy about something  that is really insignificant. 

     It's then an occurrence happens that puts us in our place.  It may be tragedy or a moment that makes us slow down enough to think about how we are truly spending our time or how we treat others.  How long we stay there is up to us.  Life gets busy again and things are going great.  We don't want to think about reality, let's just have fun!  Then at some point we are right back in the spot we left, until another humbling experience afflicts us again.

     If each experience affects us that greatly then why do we need constant reminders?  

     The answer is because we are human.  We allow ourselves to become overwhelmed.  We try to be everything to everyone at the same time.  We get bogged down with every day nuisances and tend to forget the larger picture of who we really are and what it is we are supposed to be accomplishing in our lives. 

     Being reminded myself many times in my life that I am merely a human being and not invincible,  I tend to ask myself that same question each time.   Why can't I just remember to be humble at all times?    We consume ourselves with, "I want, I want, I want", instead of "look what I have", "look what I can give" and a larger one, "Thank You".

     Almost two years ago, a wonderful friend took time out of her schedule to take me on a date.  I believe I had endured eight surgeries by then, so I could walk, but with difficulty.  Divulging that we would be attending a concert had me eager to enjoy the evening.  Feeling quite unappealing by this point in my recovery, I wanted desperately to look cute for just a night.  

     My ankle braces would not fit into my boots, therefore I wrapped them with ace bandages for support.  We were able to park in the handicapped parking, but we must still stand in line and travel to our seats.   Up until this point I literally estimated my steps every time I walked.  Each endeavor my same thoughts would be, "How far is it and will I be able to make it back?  I can only make a few trips a day at that distance.  Is the ground flat or will there be a place to sit if it's too far for me"?

     Just standing in the line waiting for the gates to open was enough to make my ankles bark.   As we passed through to the walkway, I spent most of my time looking at the ground to ensure my steps would make favorable contact with the pavement.   Having balance issues, my next efforts were to assure myself that no one would come into contact with me!   Having fallen many times alone, I did not relish falling with an audience that I did not recognize.

     Making our way to our seats, I immediately pulled my legs from my boots for relief.  The energy from the concert was contagious.  Laughter, screaming, song from every voice was filling the amphitheater.  Those moments where the excitement entangles with your body and you must stand up to express it came to me often that glorious summer twilight.  Again I had to consider that if I stood for any length of time, I would not make it back to the car.  So I sat and clapped and sang and laughed and sat some more.  

     I did have a great time, but there are occasions that I would like to express the only form of sign language that I know about my situation.    I would like to scream, rant and stomp my feet like a child, but that would only inflict more pain, so I ascertain that this is a silly notion. 

     My ankles are on fire by the time we reach our ride home.   They are screaming at me for trying too hard.  I'm on my way to a self made pity party.  A hint of disappointment enters my mind of the pain my body feels each day and that I couldn't just simply walk to and from our seats without difficulty. 

   
  It was at this particular minute a woman passes in front of our headlights and looked to be having a tremendous amount more difficulty than I.    It also looked to be permanent.  I was finally out of the wheelchair and was not using a walker or cane.   Although I had considerable pain and difficulty, I could now walk on my own.

  
   My eyelids closed tightly as I sighed and felt the tears wet my eyelashes and I silently whispered, " Thank you Lord for saving my children and I and for giving me the ability and determination to walk and stay walking.   My life can always be worse and I am grateful for what I Can do and the people who surround me."

     Definitely the instant this all transpired could have been mere coincidence, but rather I believe this was my reminder of how far I had come, how fortunate I am and what an outstanding support group I have.  Again I had been humbled and rightfully so.

     I do not believe I confided all of these details to my friend, Melissa Albright, or how indebted I am to her for one of the few fun evenings out I've had the past three years.  I will keep her in my life and give her the respect she deserves for showing exceptional friendship, regardless of her busy schedule.  

     Great lessons I have learned in those stages of chagrin.   I trust that I can achieve great things by living simply and apologetically.  Surely if I couple this with determination and integrity, I will pass over this soaring mountain and come over holding the hands of my supporters, creating my own Tower of Strength.

     
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