Okay. So I have this little hand thing going on. Apparently every visit to the therapist is going to be subject to my ever increasing co-pay. yippee. The first thing they want to know is, "are you doing your exercises?". I mumble something incoherent into my other hand... Then they ask, "are you wearing the brace we made for you?". More mumbling.
That's when the fun starts. They have been putting my hand into this strange little contraption that is full of corn husks. that's right. corn husks. It's kinda powdery, but it has the distinct smell of the silo that we used to play in when I was a kid.
Anyhow... they heat the corn husk stuff and blow it around inside the machine with my hand trapped inside. It's a good thing that my fingers aren't claustrophobic, like I am; because, I have to admit, it feels pretty good. But, I have to ask myself... who thinks this stuff up? I mean really; corn husks? It's kinda of like getting caught in a tornado in Iowa in July. only just my hand. weird.
Then there is the ultrasound. It is supposed to reduce the scar tissue which is making my mobility difficult. When I told Brian about it, he asked what my hand was "having".
Next crazy idea involves stretching out the damaged index finger. streeeetch. puuuuush. puuuull. beeeend. cuuuuuurl. ouuuuuuch. Then we exercise, bending and curling every imaginable direction. Yeah, pretty much everything that is uncomfortable to do. we do it. over and over again.
Then, she gets out the equipment. We start with a pair of stainless steel orbs about the size of ping pong balls and I have to roll them around and around in the palm of my hand. Then she got out a box of little fuzzy balls like your grandmother would use to make toilet paper doll covers and made me pick them up one at a time using my yucky finger, and tucking them in the palm of the yucky hand. Of course I had to make it challenging by pick up one color at a time. I'm weird like that.
Last but not least, she got out the "massager" which I have to say looks slightly inappropriate, to jangle my nerves into submission. She says that they have to be careful not to call it a vibrator because the men get all giggly. nuff said.
She did a bunch of measurements and said I was doing great. One more visit before my final visit with the doc, and we should be good to go. Now if I can just keep from closing this dead finger in a door or something, I should be in good shape.