Deep Purple

In my continued quest to become a real, normally functioning human again, I'm pushing ahead with my physical therapy. I've said before that I have a fear of stopping this therapy. I fear that if I'm left to continue on my own, the pain will come back. I know this isn't realistic and that I really will be ready, physically, when the time comes to stop. But, I don't want to. Even when it has hurt and it has sucked, I've looked forward to going because I believe that at least one person in the room knows what the hell he's doing.

It's like a support group for one and all the therapist wants is for me to be well. And maybe for me to stop being such a pill.

This week's treatment was more colorful than before. It hurt, but I was ultimately impressed by the results. I got hit by a truck; I can handle this little pain.

Witness the awesomeness below. (I would prefer if you mentally edited out the crappy tattoo on the right and just appreciate the badass bruise.)

It got darker and more purple the next day. I showed it off to everyone at work, I was so proud. This was a healing bruise, not a bruise from an injury. In fact, this bruise was worse than any that I got from the accident. But, it was a positive bruise. The next day, I could bend over and touch my toes. Healing.

Side note: I emailed a picture of this to my physical therapist. He called it a "nice little bruise." He was clearly not impressed.

When people ask if I'm okay, it's hard not to just say "yes." I feel as though everyone expects me to be well by now. I'm not well, yet. But, I'll take more of these bruises any day if it means that I can say "yes" one day soon and mean it.

Soon, I'll have to say good-bye to the therapy. I have so much dread. It will be saying goodbye to something that you love and will never see again - almost like a childhood security blanket. A complex cocktail of fear, loss, healing, sadness, and hope.

But, anyway, how about that awesome bruise?

Excellent slideshow:

UPDATE: I graduated this week. I earned my PT GED. Nothing ugly or purple or anything but normal looking here. I am so unexpectedly sad that it's done. I feel less calm and less confident, and that will pass.

I genuinely liked them, my therapists - and I'm a hard nut to crack, sometimes. Still, I'd buy them a beer any night of the week. I was just a patient to them, of course - one down and crank the assembly line to the next. It's different when you're on the other side, though. They see your vulnerabilities immediately and you have no choice but to let your guard down. So, someone has seen the shittiest, worst parts of you and (because it's their job) comes back again and again to help you - yet, is not your friend. It is such a bizarre dynamic.

The walk there from my office always seemed so peaceful. Maybe I just liked the time to myself; maybe I knew that I was going to a non-judgmental place. I'll miss that, too.