Monday, 12 January 2004 | Contradict

My physical therapist said that I may not be able to naturally straighten my arm within the remaining 17 visits permitted by my insurance; she said I should check to see if I can't get more physical therapy sessions.

My surgeon said that there's no reason for me to straighten my arm completely, as long as I can function in society. The only reason I want it straight, he told me, is for cosmetic reasons. He said that as long as I could manage 160 degrees, I should be happy.

My physical therapist said that if I were to force my arm straight, that it's possible the pins holding my arm together would fall out of their designated places (and rattle around in my arm, I guess, like a bowl full of change).

My surgeon said that, in a week, it would be okay with him if I tumbled down an icy mountain (i.e., went skiing), but I might want to wear an elbow-pad. (Currently I clamp my teeth if I even lightly bump my arm.)

I'm totally ignoring my surgeon.

(By the way, my physical therapist swears I straightened my arm completely at my last session, just for a second. I don't fully believe her—measuring the angle is never exact—but I really want to. Also: I can now feel the pins in my arm with my opposite hand. It feels something like the metal piece found on the back of a picture frame, the piece that ultimately rests on top of the nail. It doesn't bother me that it's in there, but I find it strange that it will be part of me as long as I'm around, and even afterward, holding my skeleton together in the earth.)