(Okay... So her name wasn't exactly "Olga," and I have no clue as to her heritage, but it sounded good and felt appropriate. I suppose if I'm being completely honest, I might as well admit that "Olga's" 4' 11", 90-pound, blond-haired, blue-eyed assistant did quite a bit of the torturing herself. I just thought I'd get a little more "street cred" by admitting only to "Olga.")
When I walked into the ortho's office for my second physical therapy appointment, I knew that I was getting a new therapist for the day. I
Yes, I realize this is a scene from General Hospital, but it is a remarkable depiction of what I saw when I looked towards the gym from the reception area. ... a grown man, defeated, with a mean-looking amazon woman who I didn't recognize standing over him... Only my guy was whimpering in agony, and the woman who I feared was "Olga" weighed about 100 pounds more than Big Alice! I nearly turned right around and walked out of the building.
I braved up and signed in though. I sat down, warily eyeing the scary woman the entire time, and prayed that one of the other three PT's in the gym was actually "Olga." I nearly shouted, "THANK YOU, LORD!" when a super-tiny, sweet-looking little girl walked up to me and said, "Tammy?" Little did I know, this blond-haired, blue-eyed, 4' 11", 90-pound child was only "Olga's" assistant, and that she was kind of like "Olga's" (pardon my French) prison bitch, forced to do her dirty work.
As we neared the table where the 300-pound scary woman was torturing that poor, poor man, she paused long enough to look up and introduce herself. "Hello. I am 'Olga.' You are next." (Oh, joy! I almost started to cry.)
Small Child looked at me with apologetic eyes, and got me set up on the bike. I did the slow 10 minutes at almost no resistance because she was trying to work my ankle without screwing up my leg. It wasn't too bad... a little sore, but okay. Then Small Child worked me through my regular daily exercises. I'm fairly used to those. A couple of them hurt like heck though, so by the end, the entire bottom half of my leg and ankle felt like they were on fire. I figured that was it. I was through. I was sorely mistaken.
That's when Small Child threw me to the wolves and handed me over to Satan. "Olga" put me on this medieval torture device and had me doing modified squats and calf raises that made my leg feel as though that broken bone was going to break free of the skin. Then she personally tortured me with some weird latex band thing that she used to pull my ankle into all sorts of weird positions that I, personally, don't think it should ever be in to begin with! "Olga" walked away exclaiming, "I'll be back." Oh, holy crapfire! Where can I hide?!? MAKE THE BAD WOMAN STOP!
Fortunately, she just came back with ice. :-)
I am now in the process of recovering from what was supposed to be part of my recovery, and attempting to psych myself up for next week's session with Satan. Pray for me!