So Tuesday was a miserably shittastic day for me, because my physical therapist decided one of my legs was shorter than the other.
I’d gone in for my weekly physical therapy, and while I’ve been making some progress with Mister Cranky Ankle, it’s been excruciatingly slow.
So he did some rather unscientific tests and became convinced that my good leg is about a quarter inch shorter than my bad leg, and that this was what was impeding my progress.
This despite the fact that the orthopedist had checked this when I initially had come in, and had found that my legs were the same length. Nine months ago.
Anyway, the physical therapist made some adjustments to the custom fit orthotics I had to get made after the first injury, and sent me on my way.
Problem was, the adjustments he made turned my legs against me in a rather violent fashion.
The heel lift on the good foot threw my entire right leg out of alignment, and put me in some rather excruciating knee pain for the better part of the day.
The small piece of foam he’d added to the arch of the bad foot started bruising the bottom of my foot (a problem I’d previously had in poorly fit orthotics) and that killed as well.
So after all these efforts to make me feel better, what happened? I ended up hobbling around the office and generally looking and feeling like my 89 year old grandmother.
When I got home last night, I took out all the crap he’d put in. Today, I was walking relatively normally and in substantially less pain than yesterday. Still more than I’d like, but I’ll certainly take “irritating as fuck” over “excruciating and making me consider stealing a cane from the prop department.”
I’m gonna give him a nice punch in the face (or at least the bicep) when I go in for my appointment next week.