Let's Get Physical!

Today was the first day of physical therapy and I had been dreading it all week!  Now, don't get me wrong, I have always been the "A+" student who follows direction and does her homework exactly as instructed.  After all, I miss my independence tremendously and want more than anything to gain it back as quickly as possible; and, I'm (usually) willing to do whatever it takes to get it.  In fact, I have been known on previous occasions to push myself a little too hard, amazing the doctors and forcing them to beg me to slow down.  When I was recuperating from a knee surgery in high school, I had been told I would be immobile for 6 weeks . . . yeah, I made sure I was walking in 4 (and, if I remember correctly, I think I was skipping and jumping in 5)!

So, I wasn't afraid of the work necessary to gain mobility.  No, I was afraid of the pain.  Actually, I was afraid  that after all the pain I would have to endure, I would still not be able to gain measurable use of my foot and ankle.  (Wow, I think that's the first time I've been able to actually put into words what I have been feeling all along.)  I think that the diagnosis of CMT (and all the symptoms that go along with it) has brought my fear and anxiety to an all new level.  I believe that if this surgery had been one that had been performed to simply correct an injury and nothing else, I would feel much more confident in my recovery.  But, just like everything else in my life--like my relationship with my father, my addiction to ice cream, and my overwhelming sense of independence combined with a desperate need to be loved by a man--my feelings are complex.

Anyway, I met with the physical therapist today (despite a few obstacles like first having to find a new, unknown therapist because my regular therapist who I adore and have been seeing for over a year is not covered under my new insurance; and then second, failing to hail a cab for nearly 30 minutes and making me extremely late for my scheduled appointment) and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw this severely swollen "ham hock" excuse for a left foot.  We did a few muscle flex exercises and some massage to reduce the swelling, but overall, you could safely say that I have nothing but dead weight hanging off my left leg.

The pain was minimal and I am confident that my next visit will be easier.  But, all I can think about (and what I confessed to the therapist out loud) is:  am I going to have cankles when this is all said and done?