Physical Therapy

OK, so I've alluded to the fact that I've made some strides in recovering from my recent stroke. My neurologist feels I've improved as well, but decided to send me to physical therapy to work on my balance, and, hopefully, help strengthen my left arm and leg. She was also concerned that one leg was shorter than the other, and that it was contributing to my sometimes unsteady gait.

Luckily, my therapist was very laid-back and took a common-sense approach to my rehab. He explained that recovery was best served by first making sure I didn't fall and injure myself further. He also reassured me that my legs were both the same length. He designed some exercises to help my balance and strengthen my back, hips and legs. As I walked out on my first day, I thought rehab would be a cinch since the exercises were so simple. Simple didn't turn out to mean easy.

First, I overestimated my physical condition. Just a few weeks of inactivity, and a small stroke, had really reduced my strength. The exercises took only a little over half-an-hour to complete, but by the end I was pretty worn out. Is this the same guy who could bench press 200 pounds not all that long ago? I was now a 230-pund wimp.

Secondy, several of the exercises require me to lie on the floor. Not bad in itself, but as soon as I started, Daisy the 75-pound Golden Retriever decided I was inviting her to play. The whole time I was working one leg or arm, I was trying to arm wrestle a hairy version of Hulk Hogan with the other! The more I pushed her away, the more she charged back for more. By the time I finished, I was covered with sweat, fur, and dog slobber. Somehow, I don't think this is what my doctor had in mind when she said I needed some help in getting back to 100%.

The last part of my routine involves walking heel to toe and alternate high-stepping. To get enough room, and have a wall to help balance me, I moved outside along the side of the house on our carport. The whole time, I could imagine the other folks on the street wondering why their crazy neighbor was goose-stepping up and down his driveway like the Waffen SS.

By the time I finish rehab, we'll probably have to move.


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