Franken Boot, the Princess Bride, and a new character joins the blog.

Put on Franken Boot.

Good evening!

Tonight we continue the saga of Franken Boot. For those of you who don't recall, Franken Boot is what I have to wear on my left foot because I'm fluffy, over 50, and decided to get off my couch and exercise.

In this edition of the Adventures of Franken Boot, we will check in on Sarah's first physical therapy session with a young man we will forever call Pretty PT Boy.

I preregistered for this because...well...that's something you have to do. I talked on the phone with a lovely woman named Barb.  Barb was new and quite possibly didn't do all the paperwork right. But then I talked to the preregister person, gave her my full name and date of birth and I was all set for appointment number one.

I am a person who picks her medical professionals not based on anything other than geography. If you are close to my house, I chose you.  So it was a no brainer when my podiatrist gave me a list of places to do PT and the local hospital (six blocks from home) was on the list.  And this is why, my friends, I wound up doing PT in the basement of a hospital.

I arrived, a bit early (I'm not used to how long it takes me to walk in Franken Boot) and checked in with an old woman who was NOT BARB. Not Barb gave me several forms to fill out (All asking me my name and date of birth). I took a seat near a guy in a wheelchair and started filling out the forms. 

That's when the fire alarm went off.

Now in a hospital, the fire alarm doesn't just go off. Lights flash, horns blare, a loud voice says, please do not use the elevators, and...oh yes...the fire proof doors close.

I had just gotten to the form that asked me if I felt safe at home. I wanted to write, "SAFER THAN I DO HERE!"  But I didn't. I wrote "YES."

But inside my head I was yelling, "I do not w

ant to die in the basement of the hospital with a guy in a wheelchair and NOT BARB.

So I'm sitting there, in a tiny, windowless, airless room, the fire doors closed, a horn blaring, lights flashing, and about a minute and half into the alarms good old ancient NOT BARB leans over her counter and says, "Don't worry dears. It's just a fire drill."

Finally the noise and lights stopped and the doors opened. 

Then Pretty PT Boy came out and led me back to an even smaller, even more airless room.

Yep, I was pretty sure this was how I was going to die.

The first appointment, for those of you who have not been through PT, is called the Assessment. This is where your PT person asks you questions like, "What's your name? What's your date of birth?  Do you feel safe at home?  Why are you here today?"

After swallowing the urge to beat Pretty PT Boy over the head with Franken Boot, I answered his questions, relaxed a little, and made him laugh with my jokes about being a fluffy girl.  He asked me what activities I enjoy.  I started with, "I like to go on walks," because that's what medical professionals want to hear. I walk, I job, I row crew semi professionally.

Not Pretty PT Boy, he said, "Yes, but what do you really like to do?"

I LIKE TO WATCH MOVIES!  I LOVE WATCHING MOVIES!

PPTB said he understood that, and he enjoyed movies as well. I had my doubts, but whatever.

We got to the end of the first session and PPTB said since I arrived early and his next victim...patient...wasn't in for a while...did I want to "try something?"

"As long as we have a safe word," I quipped.

He then explained a procedure called "Dry needling."  This is where he would stick needles into my leg and ankle and then send electric pulses through the needles.  Sort of like Frankenstein and his monster.  Except we're in a basement.

He had me lie down on the table and then showed me the needles he was using.  "The safe word," I said, "Is Octopus."

The cute young man just laughed a little laugh that did not help my confidence.

He started putting needles into my leg, and I have to admit, it wasn't that bad.  He's pretty good with a needle.

Not sure that's a compliment.  But he's a medical professional right? It's not like I'm telling some dude on the street he's good with needled. Medical people and tattoo artists should be good with needles, that's all I'm saying.

After inserting all the tiny needles and hooking them up to the flux capacitor, or whatever it was that was going to send juice into my leg, ankle and foot,  I asked to see it.  I didn't want to see him insert the needles, that would be weird, right?





I figured this was too gross for Face Book, but hey, this is my blog, I can post a picture of my leg stuck with needles, right?

I had PPTB take the picture. I told him I'm a blogger who chronicles my life so others won't fear falling down, getting medical stuff done, or just being older. I then explained that my post on my colonoscopy was well received.

And then I had to explain what a colonoscopy was.

To my PT guy.

Anyway....

He started with the electric pulses and one thing, only one thing came to mind...

So I said to PPTB, "Are you familiar with the movie 'The Princess Bride?'"

He was silent for a beat and then said, "It's NOT THAT BAD!"

Yes, yes, I can work with this. He understands The Princess Bride, I will continue my PT.

Will I do dry needling again?  I don't know.  That's not the point.