Cramming

During my last physical therapy visit, I happened to ask my PT guy what kind of grade he thought I’d get at my upcoming six week checkup with my knee surgeon. I estimated maybe a C-. He got an uncomfortable look on his face and said I wouldn’t get an F but probably a D. I was shocked. For the last five weeks, I had thought I was doing all I could at home to get my knee bending. Apparently I suck at torture, and am not hard ass enough on my unfortunate new fake knee. PT Guy said my surgeon might want to knock me out and bend my knee. WTF??? If he was trying to scare me, it was working! No way would I go through general anesthesia again. I’m done with that crap. I was also told about some sort of brace that might be put on my knee that forces it to bend, is clamped down, then bent some more. I had visions of being on the Rack during the Spanish Inquisition (not the comfy pillow one from Money Python). Or how about one of those Tarzan movies where some unfortunate native is tied to two trees bent down and torn in two? With those dramatic, yet seemingly appropriate visions in my head, I realized I need to cram like I was back in high school. I have only three days to get my knee bending up to a C or B. I’m not sure it’s possible. Back in high school, I had a book report due in two days and hadn’t cracked a book. Someone suggested I make one up. What an awesome idea! It was kind of fun. I picked my author’s name out of the phone book. For my author’s biography, I made sure to kill him off after he wrote just that one book. “DaVinci the Dreamer” garnered me an A- and I’d wished I could also hand it in for extra credit in my Creative Writing class. This was probably the only time shadiness actually worked in my favor. I seriously doubt scheming and conniving will help me out with my surgeon. “Hey...look over there! Oops, you missed seeing me bend my knee, wrap it around my neck, and tie it in a bow. Sorry, I’m a little winded by all the bending. Maybe another time.” Sigh... Gumby is my new hero.