Rehab is for Quitters
I have a t-shirt that reads, "Rehab is for quitters." I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear it as, I must admit, I have recently been in rehab myself. Now before you get your panties in a bind, let me explain. When I say rehab, I don’t mean the fun kind like celebrities do when they haven’t gotten enough recent press. I’ve been dealing with the physical kind of rehab you endure after surgery and believe me: it’s nothing like laying around the pool, drying out with the likes of Lindsay, Brittany or Paris.
I had extensive work done on my right shoulder and had my right arm disabled in a sling for over 4 weeks. In answer to your question, yes, I had to do EVERYTHING with my left hand. For some reason, every man I know automatically, winks, nods, and then exhibits the international sign for masturbation. I think you can picture what I mean, yet, silly me; the first thing I thought was, ’how do I wipe my butt?’ That should tell you what kind of crowd I hang with, and where my priorities lie.
When told I needed work on my rotator cuff, my first thought, well okay, second thought was, "Hey, didn’t I replace one of those on my old Dodge Caravan?"
Luckily I have insurance for this fix-it job and this time, I was way more heavily sedated when the bills came in. I’d like to introduce you to my little friend. He’s a tiny little white guy and goes by the name of Percocet. We’ve become real close. Actually, I don’t go anywhere without him now. He did cause a slight problem for me though. I’m naked in the shower, just a day or two after surgery, with The Wife scrubbing everything for me, and I do mean EVERYTHING, which is usually very exciting. Unfortunately, old Slim Jim and the Twins are as high as I am. The little fella just wouldn’t wake up. You’d think they could warn you about stuff like this. It could have been very traumatic, but I just took another pill.
This surgery was my first and The Wife didn’t help matters when trying to calm my nerves. While waiting to be prepped for surgery she informed me, "They will just take you in the back soon and put you down." Yeah, you wish Babes. Good thing I brought her along for moral support. When they finally took me into the back to, ’Put me down,’ they took my blood pressure, which was very low as usual. She’s on pills to bring her BP down. Me? Chicken wings and beer. Reminding her of that isn’t always a good idea especially when I’m about to be, ’put down,’ and all. Maybe I shouldn’t tease her at moments like this because she was chatting up the Doc as I was fading out. Wait a minute, maybe the Percocet isn’t why Slim Jim won’t wake up after all.
So I spent a couple weeks doing nothing but, well, Percocet. I was told to pretty much lay around in a recliner and watch TV and I of course followed Doctor’s orders to the letter. It doesn’t get much better than that or at least so I thought until about 2 or 3 days of it. Now if this surgery had been done during football season, that would have been fine, but a fella can only watch so much Oprah, Ellen, Dr. Phil and Tyra without going crazy. Of course I’m kidding, I’ve never watched any of those shows, but my, hasn’t Tyra put on the pounds and isn’t Ellen’s dancing a hoot?
Then, after 4 weeks of wiping with the old left hand, off comes the sling and you begin physical therapy. Actually, I still had to wear the sling if I was out in public, doing anything active or just desiring a little sympathy. The sympathy mainly came from strangers as The Wife had just about had enough of my act by this time. I was hoping for more understanding from my Physical Therapists too but no, sympathy is not their thing.
These folks have devices hanging around that would make a CIA torture expert envious. That would be if the CIA practiced torture which we all know they don’t. The therapists have giant rubber bands, pulleys with ropes and handles, and various other devices, that in another time and place, could be considered kinky. That is if you happen to be The Marquis De Sade. They gave me a pulley system to use at home, as if I actually would. If they think I’m going to use it on my own, by choice, well, then they’ve been dipping into the Percs as well. I thought about mentioning my problem concerning Slim Jim and the Twins, but I’m afraid they might have a pulley or rubber band for that and I don’t even want to go there.
So I show up twice a week and they move my shoulder and arm around in positions that, to tell you the truth, they would not go in before surgery, much less now. Oh, they chat with you as if they’re friendly and all that, but that’s just something they learned in Pakistan from Al Qaeda. Then they throw a plastic bag full of ice on your shoulder and tap into their computer, probably posting videos of my session to Al Jazeera TV, laughing at the infidel’s discomfort.
The Wife has a friend who once suggested I attend her Yoga classes and I now think they teach Yoga at Therapy school too. The Yoga instructor said, "I can make you feel like you just had a heart attack and had your spleen ripped out as well." My response to her was that she needs to work on her marketing chops.
Now, you know I’m just kidding about these Therapists and I hope to God they never read this because I am scheduled for something like 17 more years of this crap. Oh, they tell you you’re doing good, right on schedule, but exactly whose schedule do they mean? After twelve weeks, eight of which I’ve spent on the rack, I just started lifting 1 pound weights. That’s not a typo, I mean one-pound. Before surgery, I was curling 100 pounds at the gym, on a Nautilus machine with my trusty water bottle by my side. Now that water bottle IS my Nautilus machine; how pathetic is that? I do three sets of ten lifts with a freaking water bottle. I, of course do these workouts at home because I don’t want all the Arnolds at the gym laughing at me.
So that’s where I’m at: finally wiping with my right hand, but working out with water bottles. I don’t know about you, but that’s regressing to me. I mean, come on, I could wipe with my right hand before surgery, but now, I’m impressed by it, proud of it. Heck I even posted it on Face book. So for now, I’m continuing on with my, "Rehab," happy that Slim Jim and the Twins finally woke up, thank you very much, hoping my Therapists don’t read this column and anxiously awaiting the day I can wear that t-shirt.
© Michael Ryan 2011