Physical therapy is a crock of shit.
That being said, it may be helping. Ilsa/Ingrid/Ursula, the svedish sadist that tortures me twice a week, a large and accented vooman, seems to know her business. She sends me home with two or twenty new exercises every time, which she says, "You'll want to do three or four times a day." She's wrong about that. I don't ever want to do them again. I don't ever want to see her again.
My surgeon said that in six weeks, I'd wish I hadn't had the surgery. True enough. That's supposed to pass too.
2 comments:
Do the damn exercises. I didn't after knee surgery and it didn't heal right.
do them yourself.
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