I've been going to physical therapy for ongoing pain in my legs, mostly when I'm standing still, working in the kitchen, shopping... Apparently it stems from my lower back and thankfully, not from some spreading of cancer cells! It hasn't stopped me from exercising because it doesn't hurt when I'm moving at all.
This week the physical therapy took me to a new extreme. I have to admit, I've had a lot of different things done to my body during this whole cancer thing. But plunging....with a plunger, just like the one you use to unplug your toilet??? You've got to be kidding?
That's exactly what they did to me. It was wild and it hurt like hell. But they say it works. First they apply some oil to your skin, then the plunger grabs onto your leg or back...or whatever... and the therapist rolls it around as it's sucking your skin up. It makes you want to scream, which I did. It leaves suction marks on your skin. And you can bruise up, so you've got to ice the area afterward. But it's supposed to loosen the muscle from any skin or scar tissue that is hampering movement or causing pain.
I suppose if it works, it might be a good thing for those who've had surgery and scar tissue develops and tightens the area up. Gee, that's what happened to one of my breasts after my implants were put in. I had to have surgery to have the scar tissue removed. I wonder if the plastic surgeon could have used the "plunger" method? I'll have to ask next time I see him!
I hope this works on my legs. I sure as hell don't want to have to do it again!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Two years....and counting
Yesterday was exactly two years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember it like it was yesterday. I wonder when and if that memory will fade.
These have, no doubt, been the worst two years of my life. Not so much because of the cancer, but because of all the other issues that arise when you face the Big C. The uncertainty, the lingering questions, the fear, the medical bills, the extra expenses, the hassles and aggravation, the way people look at you....it all takes its toll. It doesn't matter how strong you are, how much you fight, how much your survival instincts kick in, it still takes a toll. Things change; we learn to roll with the punches.
Every small change in your body, every little pain, draws your attention. You become so much more aware of your body, so much more aware of every slight change, every little pain. Each one must be checked out. Because you never know...
It's that fear, that uncertainty that will remain with me forever, I suppose. I don't ever want to hear those words again. But if I do, I'll be better prepared this time. I'll know what questions to ask. I won't be dumbfounded. I'll be informed; I'll be ready. Now, I know what to expect.
Let's just hope and pray those expectations never come into play.
These have, no doubt, been the worst two years of my life. Not so much because of the cancer, but because of all the other issues that arise when you face the Big C. The uncertainty, the lingering questions, the fear, the medical bills, the extra expenses, the hassles and aggravation, the way people look at you....it all takes its toll. It doesn't matter how strong you are, how much you fight, how much your survival instincts kick in, it still takes a toll. Things change; we learn to roll with the punches.
Every small change in your body, every little pain, draws your attention. You become so much more aware of your body, so much more aware of every slight change, every little pain. Each one must be checked out. Because you never know...
It's that fear, that uncertainty that will remain with me forever, I suppose. I don't ever want to hear those words again. But if I do, I'll be better prepared this time. I'll know what questions to ask. I won't be dumbfounded. I'll be informed; I'll be ready. Now, I know what to expect.
Let's just hope and pray those expectations never come into play.
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