that’s life

Looking forward to working out shoulder pain

— I used to think physical therapy was mainly for old folks, people who’d had surgery or wimps.

Not anymore.

After months of pain in my arm and shoulder and a twinge in my knee, I finally went to the doctor.

He did X-rays and told me it wasn’t arthritis, but he said the pain in my shoulder could be my rotator cuff.

He gave me a “prescription” for physical therapy. I put it in my purse and forgot about it.

Months later, my left arm still hurt - sometimes to the point of bringing tears to my eyes - when I did things like putting on a coat or reaching under something.

So, I reluctantly called the hospital physical-therapy center.

The first day I went in, I saw a bunch of old people. I was sort of embarrassed to be there because I didn’t feel like I really needed it.

During the evaluation, the woman asked me several questions, including if my arm hurt “when you stir or chop something” in the kitchen.

I had to explain that I don’t cook. At all. The only thing I stir is sugar in my coffee, and it doesn’t hurt a bit.

Then she asked about vacuuming. I had another moment of panic, trying to think of the last time I vacuumed.

Hey, it’s my 18-year-old’s job. But yes, I had vacuumed the bedrooms just recently. Didn’t hurt. But then, I’m right-handed.

She had me do a few exercises, and I was surprised at how much some of them hurt.

I felt sort of silly making a V on the wall with my arms, but it stretched my shoulder. Lying on the ground, I held a wooden pole and moved it diagonally across my body, and it hurt so good. (I referred to the process as my pole exercises until I realized I sounded like a stripper.)

She sent me home with a sheet of exercises to do, and I promptly lost it. I did what I could remember.

I’m going twice a week now. The first thing one of the therapists does is put heat on my shoulder, which feels wonderful. She makes sure I’m comfortable and puts a pillow under my arm. I sit and read, or watch Dr. Phil, for 10 minutes.

Then I go through exercises, and sometimes my main therapist manipulates my arm while I’m lying on a table. When it’s to the point that I would stop, she keeps going. That’s another reason I need her.

Last week, I had a new exercise.

“We don’t want you to get bored,” she said.

It was a deceptively simple machine where you cycle with only your arms. (I mean, what am I, 80?)

I did four minutes, and by the end, my heart was beating fast, and I felt like I was a contestant on The Biggest Loser, ready to beg for mercy.

(I saw an elderly man using the machine the other day, and he didn’t seem to be having a bit of trouble.)

My therapist said someone kidded her about doing “this all day,” and she moved her index finger up and down.

Well, if you can’t move your finger - or your shoulder - without pain, it’s pretty dang important.

My therapist is an angel, and I have a new respect for the whole profession.

I look forward to going.

If they added a little shoulder massage and some fuzzy slippers to the session, they’d never get rid of me.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

Three Rivers, Pages 117 on 02/26/2012

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