stevenpiziks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stevenpiziks) wrote2022-10-13 09:36 pm
stevenpiziks) wrote2022-10-13 09:36 pm
Shoulder Surgery 23 (Harp)
So here's what happened:
After an involved discussion with my primary physical therapist, we decided I could start coming in just once a week, though I still need to do daily exercises at home or at the gym. I've noticed I'm about an inch or so away from pre-surgery mobility with my bad arm when I reach behind and up my back, though it still hurts to reach that far. I was taking all this as progress.
Today, the therapist asked me update questions. "How difficult is to do this? Do you feel pain when you do that? How well are you able to perform daily activities?" To the last, I said that most activities--running, biking, computer work--didn't cause me problems, but others did, including playing the harp. I explained that I couldn't play very well because the correct arm position for play causes me pain.
As part of the regimen for the day, the therapist also had me do a different stretch. I stood with my back against a wall and was supposed to reach up with my elbows bent so that the back of my arm and hand were also flat against the wall.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't even come close. Not only did it hurt like hell, my arm simply wouldn't move that way. (My good arm could do it without trouble.)
I became enormously upset. So far, I'd been able to do every stretch or exercise they'd handed me. It was just a matter of degree or intensity. But this I couldn't do. It felt like a gut punch, as if the last ten months (TEN MONTHS) of work meant nothing. I shut down and spent the rest of the session nodding or shaking my head or giving one-word answers to questions. I fled the clinic the moment we were finished.
A bit later at home, I got an email from the therapist. She said that she had discussed my harp playing with the head of the PT team, and that I could play as long as I followed certain instructions, which she attached. They involve stretching before playing, playing short runs, stretching and icing afterward, and keeping track of how long I could play and then slowly increasing my time.
I lost it again. I slumped over the computer, trying not to scream or cry or both.
Why was I so upset? Because something central to my life, something that gave me pleasure and relieved stress and helped me in a thousand other ways, had abruptly been yanked into becoming a tool for the physical therapy I both hate and fear. I can't just sit down and play my harp. No, I have to do extensive stretches and warmups. I have to monitor my playing time. I have to do cooldowns and icings. Playing the harp for ten minutes has turned into a 30-minute chore. There's no joy or pleasure in it.
The email also forced me to face something I'd been ignoring. I haven't played Corey since the surgery. That's ten months. I haven't even tried, or even thought about it. At first it was because I was in a sling and couldn't even go to the bathroom without extensive preparation, let alone play a harp. But once the sling was off, I still avoided Corey. I didn't consciously do it--I just didn't play. The email made me realize that it was because I'm afraid that I can't play anymore. The pain stopped me, and so I stopped trying. Now I've gone ten months without touching a string for fear of pain and failure. The harper's calluses on my fingers are gone. My fingers are stiff. I'm forgetting the music.
My playing has hit both a physical and an emotional wall. I don't know how to break it down--and I hadn't realized until today how thick that wall has become. I could march into the family room right this moment, sit down, and put my hands on the strings, sure. Nothing is physically preventing me. But just thinking about it knots my stomach and makes me feel a little sick. The combination of fear and the new connection of my harp to PT freezes me.
I feel like I've been robbed. A major part of my life is gone. I don't know how to get past this. I suspect I'll eventually manage to coax myself into sitting down and trying to play, and I might even be able to make recognizable music. But it'll be nothing like I used to do--and it'll be a PT chore. That makes me angry and depressed all over again.
I don't know how to handle this. I do know that I'm not handling it well. It's like abruptly realizing that I've had a bleeding wound for the last ten months, and I don't understand how the hell I didn't see it before, and I don't know how to stop it bleeding and I'm trying not to panic.
Something new to talk about with my counselor, I suppose. But in the meantime, I'm still not playing.
After an involved discussion with my primary physical therapist, we decided I could start coming in just once a week, though I still need to do daily exercises at home or at the gym. I've noticed I'm about an inch or so away from pre-surgery mobility with my bad arm when I reach behind and up my back, though it still hurts to reach that far. I was taking all this as progress.
Today, the therapist asked me update questions. "How difficult is to do this? Do you feel pain when you do that? How well are you able to perform daily activities?" To the last, I said that most activities--running, biking, computer work--didn't cause me problems, but others did, including playing the harp. I explained that I couldn't play very well because the correct arm position for play causes me pain.
As part of the regimen for the day, the therapist also had me do a different stretch. I stood with my back against a wall and was supposed to reach up with my elbows bent so that the back of my arm and hand were also flat against the wall.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't even come close. Not only did it hurt like hell, my arm simply wouldn't move that way. (My good arm could do it without trouble.)
I became enormously upset. So far, I'd been able to do every stretch or exercise they'd handed me. It was just a matter of degree or intensity. But this I couldn't do. It felt like a gut punch, as if the last ten months (TEN MONTHS) of work meant nothing. I shut down and spent the rest of the session nodding or shaking my head or giving one-word answers to questions. I fled the clinic the moment we were finished.
A bit later at home, I got an email from the therapist. She said that she had discussed my harp playing with the head of the PT team, and that I could play as long as I followed certain instructions, which she attached. They involve stretching before playing, playing short runs, stretching and icing afterward, and keeping track of how long I could play and then slowly increasing my time.
I lost it again. I slumped over the computer, trying not to scream or cry or both.
Why was I so upset? Because something central to my life, something that gave me pleasure and relieved stress and helped me in a thousand other ways, had abruptly been yanked into becoming a tool for the physical therapy I both hate and fear. I can't just sit down and play my harp. No, I have to do extensive stretches and warmups. I have to monitor my playing time. I have to do cooldowns and icings. Playing the harp for ten minutes has turned into a 30-minute chore. There's no joy or pleasure in it.
The email also forced me to face something I'd been ignoring. I haven't played Corey since the surgery. That's ten months. I haven't even tried, or even thought about it. At first it was because I was in a sling and couldn't even go to the bathroom without extensive preparation, let alone play a harp. But once the sling was off, I still avoided Corey. I didn't consciously do it--I just didn't play. The email made me realize that it was because I'm afraid that I can't play anymore. The pain stopped me, and so I stopped trying. Now I've gone ten months without touching a string for fear of pain and failure. The harper's calluses on my fingers are gone. My fingers are stiff. I'm forgetting the music.
My playing has hit both a physical and an emotional wall. I don't know how to break it down--and I hadn't realized until today how thick that wall has become. I could march into the family room right this moment, sit down, and put my hands on the strings, sure. Nothing is physically preventing me. But just thinking about it knots my stomach and makes me feel a little sick. The combination of fear and the new connection of my harp to PT freezes me.
I feel like I've been robbed. A major part of my life is gone. I don't know how to get past this. I suspect I'll eventually manage to coax myself into sitting down and trying to play, and I might even be able to make recognizable music. But it'll be nothing like I used to do--and it'll be a PT chore. That makes me angry and depressed all over again.
I don't know how to handle this. I do know that I'm not handling it well. It's like abruptly realizing that I've had a bleeding wound for the last ten months, and I don't understand how the hell I didn't see it before, and I don't know how to stop it bleeding and I'm trying not to panic.
Something new to talk about with my counselor, I suppose. But in the meantime, I'm still not playing.