I play this little game with myself at Physical Therapy. The game is called ‘How Much Before You Cry?’ and my competitor is a machine that looks very scarily like a fax machine and the playing court is my knee. There are four little sticky pads that get in the four corners around the bulbous part and then there are little alligator clips that attach to the metal nipple on these sticky pads. Then they cover the knee with a towel and I stare up at the underside of this little metal shelf on the wall, and then they put a big rectangular ice bag over the towel and then, before I can even feel the cold, my sweet therapist Carol turns on the juice. Slowly at first, 1, 2, 3. The fax machine makes boop boop noises, as though you were dialing long distance. With each boop, there is a stronger electrical current that erupts from four poles under the ice bag. At first, it feels like cat’s claws picking into you. Then rubber bands snapping. Then hot prickly thorns. Then it is very clear that you are getting an electrical shock that just keeps on shocking you. Your knee has become the thunderdome. And Tina Turner is a very sweet lady named Carol who walks around in training pants and New Balance tennis shoes and wants to talk about Broadway shows for the next fifteen minutes.
On the first day of this therapy, I could start at 6 and then, after I had gotten accustomed to the shocks, I could get up to an 8.
‘But more is better, right?’ I’d ask, because if more is better, then just crank that bad boy up! Microwave my knee if it will make the swelling go away and the weird throbbing when I’ve stood on it too long and the dead hump portion that feels like there’s a chunk of plastic stuck in there.
‘No, it’s what is comfortable!’ Carol would say and then change the subject to how she saw Riverdance with her daughter over the weekend.
But I know that she’s lying. I mean, more is better! More is always better! Ok, not when discussing ass fat or genital warts or the vocal stylings of one Mister Frank Sinatra Junior, but more, in general, is always better! Otherwise, they wouldn’t have levels! Otherwise, they would just hook you up and say, here you go, suck it up wuss.
Of course more is better. And then she made the mistake of telling me the next time that I started at an 8 and got up to a 9. And did the little impressed eyebrow raise and the cheerful ‘good job’ lilt in her voice. Ok, fax machine, you and me are going to throw down.
Yesterday, I achieved 22.
The good news is that I think my knee is actually getting better. I haven’t noticed the constant stiffness that was plaguing me before going into physical therapy and after I changed therapists I haven’t felt like crying after my appointments. I can walk small distances without feeling like I’ve got crushed glass in my knee. Things are starting to look up. Which is a good thing, because I’m not sure which level of shocking will cause smoke to come out of my ears. One would think they’d have a safety mechanism. I keep getting this visual of my knee puffing up like a bag of microwave popcorn.
Tomorrow, I’m going for the 25.
That’s right, bitch, bring it.
