On My Own, Armando & Straight Lines

I have been going to physical therapy twice a week every week since January 8th. I took a week and half off when we went to France on vacation, and a day here and there when I visited my parents in Ohio, but other than that I have been a faithful patient.

Now I am going to the every other week plan, maybe less. Jason this past week gave me a list of ten exercises I should do three times a week to build up my strength. The main reason for the change is my insurance company gives me sixty visits a year, and I started on January 8th. Jack did say he'd be willing to pay for me to attend more PT, but Jason warned me it gets really expensive really fast.

"How will I know when I am ready to ski?" I asked.

"You can come back in January," Jason said, "when your insurance year starts over again."

Good thought--except now I am on my own. I won't have someone that I have to report into twice a week. There was a time where I was doing all of the exercises, but I wasn't fully recruiting my quad to do the work it needed to do. My leg was cheating and recruiting my hamstrings, glutes and calves to do the work of my quadricep. What if that happens again? Instead of finding out sooner, I'll find out later.

On the other hand, I've made a lot of progress, and at some point I'll need to cut the cord and do this on my own. I'll miss the check-ins, and seeing other people working on their injuries, too. The fall injuries will start coming in soon. Sometimes I wonder why I am still there when I can do so much.

Jack asked me yesterday about Armando. "Doesn't it make you feel bad to see these twenty year old professional athletes surpassing you?"Armando had his surgery six weeks after mine, and he is already running on the treadmill. I congratulated him on that milestone.

"Thanks," he said. "I was sprinting the other day!" He sounded thrilled to be back in his comfort zone. I was happy for him. My livelihood and dreams didn't go down the drain when I crashed on my skis. It was a setback, no doubt, but my life didn't depend on a recovery like his did. While the other twenty year old elite soccer players are out playing getting better, Armando was learning to walk again. Yesterday, he jumped from the ground onto a one foot high platform. I don't think I could do that when I was able-bodied, let alone during my recovery. I also noticed that Armando had different scars on his knee than I did. He must have had a patellar tendon repair when mine was an allograft. My recovery from the surgery would have been easier than his, which makes his progress all the more impressive.

Nevertheless, I felt okay yesterday. I was able to do bridges and pull-backs and lifts on the exercise ball. Back when I started, I could barely do one pull in without wanting to die. Now I can pull my legs back and then lift my hips! Go me! (There is no way I am going to post a video of myself doing this. No. Way. But is it hard. Trust me.)

I also realized how far I've come when I ran into Dave, one of the dad's on my son's soccer team. It wasn't until after the game that Heidi and I said hello to him.

"What happened to your leg?" Heidi asked Dave as he limped across the field, his leg bent.

"I was playing ultimate frisbee and someone crashed into me in midair," Dave said. "I tore my patellar tendon, my ACL, my MCL and my meniscus." Ouch.

"They had to fix the patellar tendon first, and then I'll have to go in and get my ACL repaired," he said.

"They couldn't fix both at the same time," his wife Melissa said.

"I had to keep my leg straight for six weeks with the patellar tendon," he said.

"...And you need to bend your knee right away with the ACL," I said.

"Right," he said. "How did you know?"

"Lauren had her ACL repaired this winter," Heidi said.

I was now Dave's new best friend. "So you know..." he said.

"Yep," I said. I listened to his story, and he listened to mine.

"I really want to get back to frisbee and tennis," he said. I understood.

Melissa chimed in with a story from one of their friends. "He turned forty and said 'I run. I swim. I bike. After forty, I only move in straight lines.'" I laughed. It was good advice, but kind of boring. I told Jack.

"I move in straight lines, but I still have issues with my knees and Achilles heel," he said. "Straight lines are no guarantee."