Let's get physical.....

The week after I finished my home IV, I started outpatient physical therapy.  My first appointment was for about 60 minutes and started at 7:30 in the morning. 

I got to Mercy Hospital's Healthplex.  Very cool place.  They have a lot of different therapy programs, along with a nice looking gym. 

When I got there, I signed in, and sat down.  You can see the gym from the PT waiting area.  I realized that I definitely was the youngest person there.  Confirmation of that came when I paid attention to the music that was playing.  "That's Amore" by Dean Martin was on.  I suppose it was the equivalent of playing '80s music for me....Anyway, I was getting a funny feeling about my visit.

I know all of my frustration about this is because of all the unknowns that are surrounding me.  Talking to the physical therapist, she asks me what kind of a cop I am.  I tell her on patrol and she gingerly tells me that she doubts that my balance will get back to where I was.  Translation:  She doesn't think I will be able to go back out on the street.  Even though I thought that was probably an option, my stomach dropped a little.  I leave with a schedule for the next couple of weeks and lots of fun balance exercises.

I just could not go home.  Spending too much time by myself was not a good thing for me.  So I go for a drive, listening to melancholy music.  (I'm probably going to have to double up on the Prozac this morning....) 

After a quick prayer that Lisa was not in a meeting and free for lunch, she answered the phone.  Yes, lunch was on.  Thank goodness....

It started with me crumpled in the booth, with her hoping I wasn't going to cry in public.  I was hoping that, also.  But the right ridiculous question made me crack up, and all was semi-right with the universe again.  And the egg salad was pretty good.