Mama said there’d be days like this…

Yesterday was day 2 of physical therapy. And it was hard. The first day my PT (physical therapist) loosened my ankle up a little with some massaging and gentle stretching, then he showed me some exercises to do to strengthen my quads, glutes, and hips. Next, he had me walk with a walker (without my boot! yay!), to an area where I was just standing in place, slowly adding weight onto my injured ankle, barely meeting a 50/50 balance between both legs. Not bad.

therapy day 1
Therapy Day 1

Yesterday, however, shit got real.

The activity from the day before made my ankle tender, and it really tightened back up. Most of my visit was spent on a heating pad and then with him working to loosen it up (again… I get the distinct feeling that this is going to be a usual start to these visits). Then I had to make my ankle do all the same motions he was making it do. Flexing it up and down, moving it from side to side. The killer part was rotating my ankle. Right now, make your toes draw a big smile. I can’t do that.

ankle under ice
Therapy Day 2 (My ankle looked at Day 1 and said “Hold my beer…”)

By last night my ankle had ballooned up to about where it was after my surgery. I sent a kid out to the pharmacy for more ice packs. By the time I went to bed, there were tears involved, followed swiftly by the real pain killers that I have not needed for some time. For the first time, I had severe pain in my leg, and I can’t even talk about my ankle. I was acutely aware of the metal holding my bones together.

Today I am trying to stay positive, after all, this process is going to be repeated many times over. I want to run again, and squat, and do all the things I did before, and this is a necessary evil in the recovery process. Still, part of me is wallowing in the part that sucks in the here and now.


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