Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Rehab

Most of you already know.

I'm in rehab.

No, not the Hollywood kind.

The physiotherapy kind.

The MRI of which I last wrote came back clear of any labrum tears, despite the suspicions of me, my general physician and my chiropractor.

That's good news.

It's infraspinatus tendinosis,which means that muscle gets inflamed, sore and weak. Rotational movement hurts and my shoulder girdle fatigues early.



It means I don't have to go under the knife. It means I won't be in a sling and unable to use my right and dominant hand for two months. It means I won't be completely incapable of athletic activity for six months.

It means I have to strictly obey the orders of my physiotherapist.

Because maybe if I'd done that six years ago when I first tore my infraspinatus, I might not be here today.


Yes, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa. Let's not lie, physiotherapy is expensive and in 2004, my benefits sucked. Fast forward to today and living the corporate life, my benefits take care of my rehab 100 per cent.

So, I'm going to adhere to the two sheets of paper which dictate my theraband exercises for the next little while.

I'm going to avoid the dumbbells at the gym and stick to working on legs and core.

I'm going to make those trips to the physio centre when they tell me to.

And if it all means I never have to another MRI in my lifetime, I'll be thrilled.

Because I never want to do that again.

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