Manipulation

As part of my usual Monday routine, yesterday had me at the physical therapist's office.  Usually (when I have gone for these last 8 sessions) I have shown my therapist, Maryann, my progress in my shoulder exercises then stripped down to my cami and Maryann will squirt ultrasound gel on my back and shoulders and proceed to use a wand to deliver something called e-stim.  

At first the e-stim did nothing.  Progressively it started making my muscles twitch and spasm kind of like I was having an involuntary tremor.  There was never any pain, but sometimes  Maryann would take this somewhat relaxing therapy and nefariously repeatedly run the e-stim wand over a specific muscle in my neck and make me twitch over and over until I thought I was going to need therapy for my therapy.  

Yesterday this all changed.  I demonstrated my exercises, got new exercises that looked completely lame until I tried them (wimp!), then Maryann informed me that my e-stim therapy was over.  As of yesterday she would be switching to a total hands on approach.  Manipulation.  My favorite part of the therapy, the mini massage/nap in the middle of the day part of therapy.  I was stoked.

Maryann asked me to lie on my back on a padded table, she told me to relax and she placed her hands underneath my back to "warm" the areas she was going to manipulate.  Frankly, I fell asleep after that part until who knows how much longer, when she went all voodoo on me.  I stir to find her shifting around to my head and placing her arms under each side of my neck.  I start to dose back off when of the sudden I realize her hair has fallen in my face.

I guess I should describe my therapist at this point.  Maryann is a petite thing in her late 40's, early 50's with stringy Marsha Brady hair, glasses, and a squeaky voice.  She is really nice, but a person that if you had to describe with one word would pick maybe...dowdy.

So Maryann's hair is in my face.  Ewww.   I am petrified to open my eyes because I can tell her face is pretty close to mine and I can feel her breath.  I am suddenly awake and thinking I hope this is going to be over soon when she does the grossest thing ever.  She burps.  Not like Bluto in Animal House or anything, but a nice sweet barely audible ladylike thing.  But her face was right next to mine!  I could smell what she ate for lunch.  I was disgusting. 

I know that burping is no big deal, and I know you all can relate when you think about your child or your spouse burping something supremely nasty in your vicinity, but a stranger?  Only an inch or two from your own mouth?

I am a H*U*G*E germa-phobe.  Someday I will have to share the cheesecake story with you, but I am known for my excessive hand sanitizer usage and not eating anything that someone else (outside my family) made, cut up, served, touched, breathed on, etc.  And Maryann burps in my airspace? Nuh-uh.

Then, after the hair, AND the burp, Maryann does this illegal, climb on to the table behind me and use her whole body to bend me into a pretzel, move.  Foul!  Flag!  It was a little too "Street Fair" for my taste.  Bending, writhing, folding.  I swear I was at the University Street Fair watching the freaks dance.  Which, by the way, is a whole ton of fun.  I just did not wish to be a participant.

After Maryann is done, thank God, she climbs down and proceeds to tell me how stiff (no crap), I was and that I needed to be relaxed for the therapy to be working.  She felt as though I was fighting the process.  Really?  Not for the reasons you are thinking, sweetheart.

I have to go back tomorrow.  I think I'm going to be bringing a face mask.  Too subtle?