Weaning

Today I had what was very possibly my penultimate session of physical therapy.

My therapist thinks I'm about ready to be kicked to the curb, and I think she's probably right. I've gotten a lot of mobility back in my arm, thanks to her relentless attacks on my very stubborn scar tissue, and now it's pretty much up to me to keep up the good work by massaging and stretching and exercising every day.

So far, I've been pretty diligent, although the massaging has fallen somewhat by the wayside ever since the joints in my hands decided to revolt.

I actually like the stretching and exercise regimen—it's one of the few proactive, tangible things I can do to promote my own health. I don't think I'm burning enough calories to threaten the residual flab, but it's a start.

My physical therapist is going on vacation for the next two weeks, so I'm on my own until September 20. If I can stay in the groove during that time, she's going to discharge me when she gets back.

I'm looking forward to getting those five hours (including commuting time) back every week. So you'll forgive me if I sign off now—I've got a date with a bright yellow elastic band.