Just got back from 2 and 1/2 hours of physical therapy. You read that right. Two and one half hours. Sheesh. So now I’m behind on everything I’d planned for the evening. Including dinner and I’m starved so this will be short.
The therapy is for intercostal muscle strain (also called acute thoracic muscle strain) and I couldn’t find a decent page to link you to… which is what my new doc has diagnosed, as opposed to costochrondritis which is what my old doc decided. Remember all this? It’s not important except that therapy is going to prevent me from whooshing straight home from work several days a week. It better help with the pain to offset the inconvenience…
My therapist is rilly cool though. He’s a Civil War buff and his office is overflowing with pictures of generals and swords and pictures of battle scenes and all sorts of memorabilia. He’s real tall and real thin with the sideburns and goatee that actually make him look like a Southern General. And the icing on the cake, he speaks with a deep Southern drawl. He studied his craft at the Mayo Clinic. Taking that into consideration and the workout I got, I’d say the dude knows his stuff. He did, however, dub me his new”problem child”. Evidently, my “condition” doesn’t make a lot of sense medically. Not for my lifestyle, build, activity level, etc. So he’s decided to get to the bottom of this or as he referred to it, looking under all the stones. Normally the kind of pain and duration, location of pain and other factors stem from an injury. I didn’t injure myself. So we will see… He took pages and pages of notes. I felt like I was being interrogated for a crime I didn’t commit. Well, not exactly. He’s got a good sense of humor. And I still have all my fingers.
I will soon post regarding our weekend trip to NY, which was great.