When the doctor prescribed physical therapy for my legs, I inwardly groaned, dreading the hours I would have to juggle babysitting and the $30 co-pays that would leak out of my pocket twice a week.
And then, I went to physical therapy.
I tell you, it's like I'm on vacay.
First, I check-in to a smiling person who greets me with a friendly chat about the weather. Then, I hand over my credit card. I take a seat until I am called by another cheerful person, the therapist. She smiles while she really listens to me and tries to come up with suggestions for how to make me feel better.
I enter the therapy room and there are people lying around, looking relaxed. I hop onto a "table". Stimulating conversation ensues with real grown ups while I take the time to do some really good stretching. Then, I get to lay back on a pillow and my legs undergo an ultrasound for treatment purposes while we talk lazily about Thanksgiving plans.
Next, the therapist massages my legs and I shut my eyes, almost nodding off.
She finishes the massage and tells me that now, I get to go to the whirlpool to soak my legs in hot water with streaming jets. We walk to the tub, she hands me a magazine and sets the timer for 12 minutes.
I have barely finished one article and am starting to look around for waiters bringing me a glass of wine
or a tall fruity beverage when the therapist comes back and says my time is up.
I am whisked to the check-out and my hour of vacay is up. The receptionist smiles and says she'll see me next week.
It was as good, if not better, than a hair cut. Someone was taking care of me for a change, instead of me taking care of lots of little people, a house, meals, etc. And you know what I've decided? I think that maybe all moms should be prescribed a little PT every now and then.
1 comment:
In response to the title: a little of both for me! Great post, thanks for sharing.
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