Last Wednesday, I had a PT appointment in town, a mile away. We planned that after my PT, which is always lowkey and nominal in nature, we'd drive on to our shopping town, across the river into Oregon, 35 miles away. We'd make a fun day of it.
But I knew starting the night before that I was not feeling right. The previous evening, I sat in the recliner aspirating my saliva...having slight problems with swallowing....some heart stuff...I knew it was due to the fact that I'd pulled some weeds for about ten minutes that day.
In the morning, I showered and tried to get over feeling poorly. I usually can "buck up" a lot.
But once I strapped on the CTO vest and got into the pickup and felt the sway of the truck, I knew that all of my plans were for naught.
I told my husband that I probably would need to go home. He was, at first, disappointed. I weakly walked down the hospital corridor to the PT room, and standing just inside the door, I announced to one and all that I was done with PT! I had two more visits authorized by work comp, but I just can't do it anymore. It always causes my symptoms to flare up and I end up recovering for a week til the next appointment. That's it, I'm done.
Then, with weak and shaky legs, still strapped in my brace, I walked back down the hall, carefully holding onto the handrail as I descended the 3 steps to the sidewalk and told my husband, waiting for me in the Toyota, that I needed to go straight home.
By then, he'd wrapped his mind around the idea and dropped me off at home and continued on back to do the errands we had planned. I got into the house and dropped into a recliner and stayed there til he got home.
No comments:
Post a Comment