“Holy frick! FRICK! FRICK! FRICK! What the hell is that?”
Words that exited my mouth not even 10 minutes into yesterday’s physiotherapy appointment.
I had visions of spiked clubs, electric shock and iron maidens with Dear Physio at the end of them filling my head with every body twisting stab of pain going through my left butt cheek. Had I seen that bendable needle, the length of practically my arm, before it was inserted, Dear Physio likely would have had bruised shins… Or worse.
As many of you know, I’ve sung the praises of Dear Physio for years. He is a miracle worker slash ailment curer. But oh man, yesterday, he was so close to having a voodoo doll, complete with torture pins of its own, made in his honour!
For more than a month I’ve been dealing with a niggling pain in my butt; I thought it would subside or right itself, but it didn’t. And with training efforts ramping up again, I figured it was high time to call in the big guns: Dear Physio.
This guy is like a physiotherapy celebrity – everyone wants to see him. His current wait list extends well into October! I could go to other physios, I have gone to other physios, but none – N.O.N.E – have produced the results of Dear Physio.
He is the most rounded physiotherapist I have ever been to, continually elevating his education, mastering different forms of therapy, making sure he has the knowledge necessary to adequately treat the problem, not just Band-aid it. It’s why I want to see him, why the whole town wants to see him, why top-notch athletes want him, and why practices are continually seeking him out. He’s that good. Which is why I drive 45 minutes to see him, and why I whole heartedly trust him. Pain and all.
Dear Physio did the usual once over as soon as he saw me, asked a few questions, checked this and that, mumbled a few technical terms to himself, and then told me everything he was about to do.
And I tried to listen and understand all that he was telling me, which I’m sure was in the most simplest manner, I really, really did. But the thing is, I’ve been going to Dear Physio for years, and every time he has fixed me lickety split. I. TRUST. HIM. And so, half of what he says is kinda sorta like a fuzzy cloud of happiness shooting through me.
I heard something about my pelvis being elevated on one side, slight misalignment, my glute muscles firing, two trigger points, happy cloud, happy cloud, happy…WHAT THE???
I didn’t know much about acupuncture before the appointment, but I sure as hell knew all I needed leaving the appointment. Holy fricking hell – pain! pain! pain!
A needle, practically the size of an elephant’s trunk, jabbed and twisted down into my butt cheek. One. Two. Three times!!! I tried Lamaze breathing only to be reminded I never actually learned how. I tried channelling my inner yogi, but I always balked at the calming breathing portion of it. DAMMIT!!! I scrunched up my face, squeezed my eyes shut, held my breath, and held, and held, and held. Holy. Freaking. Pain.
Seriously, how the hell do people do this?
I spent the rest of the day either submerged in a hot bath or sitting on a block of ice. I downed a handful of Advil, and kept rubbing my buttocks in the hopes that the gentle caressing would magically eliminate the butt’s bruised feelings.
All for the betterment of my running legs! Seriously, the torture I go through for those things, sheesh 😉
Guess we can add acupuncture to my LONG list of running injury therapies!