I Know You Can't Do This, But I Want You To Try

Those were the inadvertently humorous and wise words of my physical therapist on Thursday morning. It was the most frustrating morning I've had in a long time, during a particularly frustrating week in the grand scheme of my recovery. It seems that my IT band has developed a mind of its own, and has made the decision to stop cooperating with my efforts at regaining strength in my hips. It insists on working when it should simply be sitting there supporting the work of other muscles. It thwarted the efforts of the ionto (on which we have given up), and remains as inflamed as ever. This week in particular, my knee has felt quite a bit like it did about 10 months ago when I first went to see a doctor--lots of biting pain when I climb or descend stairs, and frequent "bites" when it's bending and bearing weight (as I'm sitting down in a chair, for example). Over the last two weeks, my therapist has had me try several new exercises (as well as variations on some of our old favorites). Each time she asks, "where do you feel that?" And it seems that 9 times out of 10 my answer is, "on the side of my knee." (just as a clarification: the answer we're looking for is "on the outside of my hip," or perhaps "in my glutes.") The result of all this is a newly-limited number of exercises that I'm allowed to do, along with quite a pile of frustration through which I am now slogging. On Thursday, I wasn't really sure I was even capable of slogging. In fact, I felt worse than I had in quite a while (in my head, that is). But that's when the story took a really corny turn...

First, we have the quote that serves as the title for this post. Though she claims she didn't mean for it to come out that way, it did. And at the time, I found it hilarious. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was the first thing that made me smile that morning. Though I really haven't gone down the "I can't do this" road during my PT sessions (or even in my own head when I'm home alone, for that matter), I suppose there are things that I've decided I can't do for one reason or another--either because I lack sufficient strength, or they actually cause me pain. But why shouldn't I try? Excellent question. Of course, the number one reason not to try is the high probability of failure. When your muscles simply won't fire, you just can't make your body do what you want it to do--there's no way around that one. So there is a part of me that has to accept my current reality, whether I like it or not, and realize that I'm in for some failure. But of course, the whole reason for continuing to try is eventually to be able to keep doing things like karate (or, for that matter, sitting in a chair or climbing stairs) pain-free for a long time to come. I have to believe that continuing to try is the only way things are going to get better than they are. So I decided that those inadvertent, humorous words were simply going to have to work for me. And when I'm really headed for the dumps (which happens more often than I would like), I can recall the many occasions where she has tried to explain to me (I'm paraphrasing here) that a failure of my muscles isn't a failure of my character. But if you think that's as corny as this story gets, well, keep reading...

I finish my session, still in pain, still kind of depressed, but realizing that I have to get myself to a better place about this whole thing. Fortunately for the safety of all my co-workers, it's about a 40 minute drive from PT to work, so I have a bit of time to get my thoughts in order so that I appear to be a presentable professional before I arrive. I get on the road, and turn on the radio (love the XM 80's channel). [this is your final warning: I couldn't make up how corny this is. Read on with caution] The first three songs I hear, in order, are: Things Can Only Get Better by Howard Jones, Don't Stop Believing by Journey, and Get On Your Feet by Gloria Estefan. That's so corny, it would have been cut from an episode of Full House. I'm laughing even as I write this 36 hours later. I'm still trying to decide if there's anything cosmic or inspirational in those songs, or perhaps the order in which they were played, or maybe in how Gloria Estefan had to go through all that PT after the bus accident and look at her now (where is she now? I always loved Miami Sound Machine). I'm not sure there's anything there at all. But it did make me stop and laugh a bit, which is one of the things that keeps me sane.

When I got to work, the first thing I did when I sat down was print out a little sign for the bulletin board that hangs right beside my desk. I'm still not entirely sure why it's there or what it really makes me think of when I look at it but, if nothing else, it makes me chuckle every time I read it: I know you can't do this, but I want you to try.

A Public Service Announcement

This is my knee.







This is my knee on ionto. Well, ionto on my knee.

MAFB, Ionto, and TSOP: Everything (and Everyone) Old is New Again

Middle-Aged FaceBooking (yes, I know the 'B' really isn't capitalized; but MAF would make for kind of a sad acronym). It seems to be the latest craze sweeping through our office (even among those that aren't so middle aged yet), much to the dismay of some around us. Several of us have gotten into it, and meet up semi-regularly on Facebook while we're hanging out at home (see my previous post about how we can't do that at work). We all seem to have found long-lost friends, relatives, or classmates, and are having a fun time learning more about each other. We've also developed a new syndrome--profound irritation when someone we want to find does not have a Facebook page. How un-cool of them, and how very inconvenient for us. I mean, really. Get with it. Our goal is one day to eradicate the plague of LackaFacebookation that seems to be rampant across our land. So please--tell your family, tell your friends, tell your neighbors. Get a Facebook page. Then you can be cool. And hip. And young again. Like us.

My next reminder of middle age is the constant annoyance of my hip and knee. My PT has returned to an oldie but a goody (which means we've tried this before)--iontophoresis. It's kind of a keen technology actually. Basically, it's a way of using an electric charge to propel anti-inflammatory medication through the skin. The process is kind of neat, but feels pretty creepy--like really strong pins and needles. She puts the medication on one half of a patch, and puts a conduit substance on the other half. The patch has two small batteries on the outside, and has a plastic piece onto which you slide a small electronic device. The device stays connected to the patch for three minutes (which gets the batteries charged and going) and is then removed, while the patch stays on for two hours. [the picture is of the device connected to the patch] I usually wear the patch on the side of my knee, where things are most messed up at the moment. We're not yet sure if it's helping, but we should know within the next two visits if it's worth continuing or not. If not, we're back to the really old drawing board. Wonder if ACME makes IT bands...

TSOP. Who didn't love TSOP? For those of you who were perhaps doing other things in 1974, or perhaps didn't exist in 1974, TSOP was a song performed by a group called MFSB. Can't beat that combo with a stick, I say. Of course, I have no good reason to mention either the group or the song here, other than MAFB made me think of MFSB and TSOP. It's almost like a little electronic device is connected to my brain. It stays for just a few moments, gets my batteries charged, then....uh....oh.....maybe not. Though my head does feel a bit tingly...