I have spent more time in physical therapy than I like to recall. I mean years. I have more programs, exercises, techniques, and advice than I could use in my lifetime. When the rheumatologist prescribed more physical therapy, I wasn't thrilled, but I told him that I was willing to try it. He said that they could find me a shorter, more all-inclusive program that I could do on a daily basis, but not use up my whole day.
I tried. I really did. I tried to be respectful and nice. I tried to be open-minded. But when the list of exercises that I was supposed to do three times a day got to be three pages long, I threw in the towel. The worst part of it was having to call and cancel the appointments. I hate doing things like that. I fear disappointing or upsetting the hard-working medical staff. But since I'm a big girl now, I have to take charge of my own medical treatment and decide what's best for me. And, oh, I don't like it.
It isn't the therapist's fault that I've had almost four years of this already. It isn't the therapist's fault that I have had some of the best therapists in the area and that he is just average. It isn't the therapist's fault that I don't like him.
The doctor said he'd like me to try it. I tried it. I'm saying, "no." I can say it. Does it feel good? Well, as TAC students and graduates like to say, "In a way, yes, in a way, no."
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