Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
PT Ain’t for Sissies
Creak! I’m at it again. I went to the doc for my annual checkup the other day. You know, the annual checkup that Medicare requires and asks stupid questions, like “Do you feel safe at home?” Hell no, I live on the edge of America’s largest volcanic caldera, Yellowstone. (By definition, a caldera is the large depression formed when a volcano erupts and collapses). Old Faithful is a good reminder that it could blow at any minute.
Medicare also wants to know if you have rugs in your house? Of course, do you think I’m nuts? It’s gonna be below freezing soon. And then the corker, “What do you eat for breakfast?” I puzzled over that one. I’m not big on breakfast, but I replied, “Tomato juice, lime, celery, and potatoes. With a little water.” She thought that sounded just fine, so oatmeal’s out, Bloody Mary’s are in.
I like my doc but she’s a little blunt, I think. She says things like, “At your age, you need to go on a diet, Girl,” or “You keep that up, you’ll be outa here.” All right already, I get it. So, when she said, “You need some PT.” I was a bit startled. My first thought for PT was “Prison Time” because I worked for the Idaho Department of Correction for a few years, so can identify with that one for sure. But I haven’t been arrested even once this year. Then I remembered my many days as a teacher, when PT meant “Pregnant Teenager.” Holy cow, no! I’m 78, I don’t think so. She continued and reminded me of the dangers of falling ‘at my age,’ which made me think. What does she know about my age anyway? She’s barely old enough to vote.
I nodded my head. I’ve been there, done that, so the saying goes, but it’s been a while. I’m here to tell you that falling is not fun. Falling on grass is one thing. Falling on a concrete sidewalk is entirely different. I’ve done both, but not since I moved to Montana, making me think that walking on graveled roads and paths speckled with pine cones, broken tree limbs, and all kinds of animal scat is safer than clean-swept concrete sidewalks. I said as much to the doc, who ignored me and said, “PT. I’ll get you hooked up to PT. Falling ‘at your age’ is not a good idea.” What’s this “at your age” thing anyway?
Every morning when I get up, I have two goals, 1. Not to fall. And 2. Not to fall.
So, I complied and called the local physical therapy people. The therapist said, “Let’s practice standing, you know, without assistance.” I think I stand just fine, but I did as she asked, standing tall, first on one foot, then on the other, hands atop of my head, turning my neck from side to side. I was weaving in the wind, only there wasn’t any wind. Oops, maybe I needed some help? It was an odd position, I must say, but she could do it, so why couldn’t I?
She had me do some more PT (I now know that PT is an acronym for Pain and Torture), and said, “Six weeks and you’ll be as good as new, and by the way, there is a free class for people that are ‘your age’ that will help you out, too.” I’m into free, so I signed up. I’ve been to three sessions, which are rather humiliating, BTW, but I’m feeling fine.
We are headed to the Marine Corps Birthday Ball this month and I am reminded standing tall on those yellow footprints long before I was “at my age.” Now, however, I am just trying to stay upright, and not fall over in my fancy glittery PT (Pretty Tall) Cinderella-slippers. “Cowboy, ‘at our age,’ let’s be easy on those twirls and dips because we don’t want to be breaking our shoulders and hips.”
Gail is an author and blog writer. You can see all of her work on gailcushman.com
