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[This is mostly transcribed from an email I sent my sweeties this morning; you may wish to skip to the last paragraph.]
I've had another good physical therapy session. No massage this time--I don't know if that's a Saturday special, or an Apu special, or what. I got another new PT, a woman named Sixta who was strong enough that the resistance exercises where I was pushing against her worked well.
We're agreed that I'm progressing very well, despite the shoulder pain Monday night and Tuesday morning. Sixta says that there will be occasional times like that, when ibuprofen or similar is the appropriate response (I told her I'd taken ibuprofen).
I have a new exercise with the elastic, pulling up and across my body, which she says is a more "functional" motion than the others, since it's like reaching up for something. For that I'm supposed to hook the elastic behind the door a little lower than for the others. I also have a replacement exercise, hanging onto the top of a door (or, I suspect, the refrigerator) instead of walking my hand up the wall.
Sixta said that I should probably keep doing some of these exercises indefinitely, though maybe twice or three times a week instead of every day once I'm healed. And while I can eventually go back to, for example, the lateral raise shoulder exercise, things that involve lifting weights above my shoulder are probably out forever. Ah, well. The weight-lifting is a means, not an end. The complicated part is that it's a means to several different ends.
I'm going to call my GP and ask if she can get the insurance company to approve more sessions (also after discussion with Sixta).
After the PT session, I walked up Park Terrace East and through Isham Park to the A train, rather than down and along Broadway: that stretch of Broadway is unappealing, and Broadway is always hotter than the residential streets west of it. It was more exercise--"up" in this case is fairly literal, though the only stairway was the one down from Isham Park to Broadway--but more pleasant. The odd bit was spotting a bunch of purple flowers draped over a bush, sniffing them, and confirming that they are almost certainly wisteria. In August. Weird, but pleasant. (I couldn't check the mad thought that another bush was white lilac, because it was behind a fairly solid fence in the garden at the north edge of Isham Park.)
I've had another good physical therapy session. No massage this time--I don't know if that's a Saturday special, or an Apu special, or what. I got another new PT, a woman named Sixta who was strong enough that the resistance exercises where I was pushing against her worked well.
We're agreed that I'm progressing very well, despite the shoulder pain Monday night and Tuesday morning. Sixta says that there will be occasional times like that, when ibuprofen or similar is the appropriate response (I told her I'd taken ibuprofen).
I have a new exercise with the elastic, pulling up and across my body, which she says is a more "functional" motion than the others, since it's like reaching up for something. For that I'm supposed to hook the elastic behind the door a little lower than for the others. I also have a replacement exercise, hanging onto the top of a door (or, I suspect, the refrigerator) instead of walking my hand up the wall.
Sixta said that I should probably keep doing some of these exercises indefinitely, though maybe twice or three times a week instead of every day once I'm healed. And while I can eventually go back to, for example, the lateral raise shoulder exercise, things that involve lifting weights above my shoulder are probably out forever. Ah, well. The weight-lifting is a means, not an end. The complicated part is that it's a means to several different ends.
I'm going to call my GP and ask if she can get the insurance company to approve more sessions (also after discussion with Sixta).
After the PT session, I walked up Park Terrace East and through Isham Park to the A train, rather than down and along Broadway: that stretch of Broadway is unappealing, and Broadway is always hotter than the residential streets west of it. It was more exercise--"up" in this case is fairly literal, though the only stairway was the one down from Isham Park to Broadway--but more pleasant. The odd bit was spotting a bunch of purple flowers draped over a bush, sniffing them, and confirming that they are almost certainly wisteria. In August. Weird, but pleasant. (I couldn't check the mad thought that another bush was white lilac, because it was behind a fairly solid fence in the garden at the north edge of Isham Park.)