At least, my therapist is.
Or can be.
Needless to say, he hurt me. I mean, not the “Ow! Oooh! That’s MUCH better!” kinda hurt, I’m talking, leaving fingernail marks in wood kinda hurt.
Apparently, some of the nerves, in the bundle that is pinched, run down my arm via the armpit area. This aches quite a bit. Turns out, contracted muscle can pinch nerves as well, so Bernie (my therapist that day) decided he was going to stretch those muscles. Sounds like a good idea doesn’t it?
“Don’t you believe it.”
He had me lie on the table (on my back). He put my arm across his body and put the fingers of his right hand in my armpit while simultaneously pushing down from my shoulder with his left hand. Like he was forming clay. Let me tell you, your armpit is NOT clay. It fucking hurts. A LOT!
At one point he looked at me and asked my why I was turning red. I told him because I had been holding my breath. “Don’t do that!” Well, I’m not gonna scream or cry, that would draw attention to the fact that he was trying to cut my arm off with his fingers!
OMG I saw stars. And this was something he did for like 15 minutes straight! I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t, so I squeezed the table with my left hand and dug the heels of my feet into the table while pushing my toes against the wall. It took everything I had not to rip my arm out of his grip…or punch him. Not sure which would have hurt worse.
I just PRAY he doesn’t do it again tomorrow. I think I WILL cry then.
Sometimes, I think I need to re-think my stand against “fix it with a pill”. If Jacob hadn’t had soccer practice after my appointment, I would have gone home and swallowed the whole bottle of percocets that I had. And maybe chased it with one of the bottles of wine in my fridge. I have a very high pain threshold, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt and that I enjoy it when it does hurt.
It just means that I’m stubborn and won’t admit that it hurts.
I am woman, hear me grit my teeth and turn blue.