It’s PT Time

Part 6: Post TLIF Surgery

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I’m not what you would call a religious person, but I am very spiritual. This is where I ask everyone for prayer as I know starting physical therapy after major-ish surgery is gonna hurt — ALOT. I mean, that is what we’re paying them for, right?

My doctor, after my incessantly long and self-indulgent story about how fit and athletic I used to be and how I really really wanted to get some of that prowess back before I die, decided it was a good idea to send me to PT at four weeks post surgery. I was grateful that he listened and was agreeable to notching up the healing journey, but what, pray tell, in the hell was I thinking? Physical therapy is NOT the normal lay-on-the couch therapy, it’s frigging Physical. It’s right there in the name. That’s not a concept I’ve been familiar with as of late.

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At four weeks post surgery, your body is doing it’s level best just to plug all the cords back in that surgery and fifteen years of impingement, had unplugged. It’s not really ready to be ‘physical,’ but I’m too inpatient. I had to start now.

But here’s how this went. First of all, I drove myself to my appointment, which in and of itself, was pretty stressful. It was my first time behind the wheel since surgery. I didn’t think it would be a big deal since the office was like ten minutes away, but I was worried about how my body would react, especially my slow legs. But I MADE IT! Check!

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When I arrived, I met with a darling YOUNG physical therapist, who told me more than once he’s not used to seeing TLIF lumbar fusion patients at just one month post surgery. He said something like — You’re still pretty raw and there are parts of you that we cannot move at this stage, so we’re going to start strengthening those legs. Concerned? Nah! I can handle it. Does any of this remind you of my first posts?

Okay — so what does that mean? I’ll tell you what it means. He set a devious plan in motion that would torture my lower extremities, leaving my back and torso area basically unscathed (for now). Since there’s no bending, lifting or twisting, we’re going to burn out your inner thighs, your glutes and hips until your legs barely hold you up.

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It’s just a rubber ball and a strap, how could those cause any pain? Hmmmm. Well, I thought that too until he had me sit at the edge of the table, dangling my legs over the side, with my thighs hanging over enough to trap a volleyball sized ball between my knees. Then he proceeded to cinch a strap around my thighs, trapping the ball in between my knees. I couldn’t have escaped even if I tried. Trust me, I thought about it.

Got the picture? Well add in that I’m having to hold my core (whatever that is) in tight to keep from sliding off the table as I squeeze the ball as hard as I can until I can’t anymore, only to then push outward toward the strap for as long as I can. ‘Give me 30 of those, please.’

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Oh sure, no problem. I know for many of you, this would be so easy, but for me — my back injury had all but rendered my physical fitness level back to zero, so this small, but very significantly painful exercise nearly killed me. What’s funny — that one wasn’t the hardest one of the day but the young PT smiled and made sure I wasn’t using my back for any of the movements.

Next came the lay down version of hell. Picture this. All while my head was spinning with positional vertigo, he’s having me push my heels into one of those squishy-ass balance half ball things, then press my sore back into the hard table, then push my thighs outward against the strap while I’m squeezing my butt cheeks together. Hold that for as long as you can, then release, for another 30. I was more worried about falling off the side than keeping all that in perfect form, let me tell you.

Keep in mind, I’m so completely out of shape, and my legs have been lethargic for months. Sometimes just walking is a chore, so engaging all these muscles, in a very controlled way, was like a shock to my system. The shock I needed, but a shock none-the-less.

There were several other versions of stretches and squeezes during our one hour session, followed by ‘how was that? you feeling okay?’ I’m stubborn and proud enough to lie when asked these questions, but I think my drunken wobble exit answered his questions loud and clear.

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He sent me away spent and with homework, looking forward to our additional thirty-eight upcoming visits. Holy S*!@! Please pray for me.

Click to follow my recovery journey here. https://medium.com/@rhondafrankhouserbooks/patient-patient-not-a5e70e25a24e