an email to my physical therapist:
How’s it going? Thanks for asking about my follow-up x-rays. The bone is completely healed. When I asked Dr. G if I could wear a backpack again, he said, “Anna, you can do whatever the hell you want.” (Hells yeah!) “And I don’t need to see you ever again either, unless you want those screws out.” (No, thanks.)
I am clear to do everything. EVERYTHING. And I have a new prescription to include as much strength training as you see fit. This is all to say: give me your worst.
Hope you’re having a fabulous day!
* * * * *
I’m not sure which part felt better: 1) hearing those blissful words from my surgeon; 2) getting to practice yoga for the first time in 12 weeks (even though my poses resembled that of a zombie just waking up from the dead, having not used her joints in several hundreds of years–kind of like BillyButcherson…you know, that zombie from Hocus Pocus who was Winifred the witch’s boyfriend in life…anyone?); or 3) receiving an email from that better half of mine after I shared my good news (“Awesome! They were impressed with your range of motion and strength? I certainly was – nicely done.”)