Tuesday, 24 February 2004 | Bendy

My arm has been hurting for at least a week, just above my metallic right elbow. My physical therapist has me doing stretches in which I hold my right arm in front of me, palm up, parallel to the floor, and I pull back (and down) the fingers on my right hand using my other arm. Doing this, unfortunately, highlights how stubbornly crooked my arm still is. Sometimes I'm inclined to force it, but I don't dare, or, rather, I can't. Other times I leave it bent, and mentally declare it a normal (rather than a deformed) twin.

Heat helps loosen it up, like it's my arm's first drink at a party. That's how physical therapy sessions always begin—with me laying on my stomach, my arm stretched out behind me, a heat snake coiling around my arm. I'm not allowed to use the ultra-sound on my arm, as it has the potential to heat my hardware to an "unsafe" degree. I'm not entirely sure what would happen if the metal became hot, but in my imagination, it would turn bright orange and cook the inside of my arm like a piece of chicken.

My physical therapist regularly makes positive comments about my progress, but she anticipates my response before I have a chance to speak. "It looks really good today...it's not straight enough for you, though, I know." Her Japanese accent is strong, but her English is near-perfect. I've only had to explain one word to her ("sleet") and one rather bad joke.

Today Rick guessed that I probably have tendonitis, which would explain why my arm feels like it's been trampled. I don't know what I did to get it, nor am I totally clear on how to get rid of it, beyond practicing a new and unpleasant maneuver that I just learned, which incorporates a Styrofoam cup and a giant ice cube, and involves me pressing the ice-filled cup to my inflamed joint and swirling it around in a circle.

The room is filled with humans doing things that would seem strange if it weren't a physical therapy gym: a woman walking in place in a tub of water that has a transparent wall; a man standing on a small trampoline on one leg while playing catch; people laying in contorted positions and balancing objects as if they're circus animals. No one notices a person who's painting her elbow with a Styrofoam cup of ice. It's nice; when we enter the room, it's as if we get a license that states it's impossible to look silly. We come close, though.