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Wednesday, August 10, 2005

DoN Endorses Pharmaceuticals

There's no delicate way to put this, and I'm no shrinking violet: physical therapy was a real bitch today.

I made the mistake of telling my therapist JK that last night during my home exercises, I felt some adhesions give way along my shoulder blade; with that, he turned into Snidely Whiplash right before my eyes. (Good God, did I date myself with that reference--only those 40 and older will remember who ol' Snidely was!) Let's just say that my session could have been most appropriately conducted in a dungeon with racks and those big wooden gears and some little stoopy guy wearing a leather hat and studded vest. At one point, JK put a pillow on the table for my head, one midway down for my knees, patted the tabletop with his hand and said, "Okay, time for the pain."

He did not lie.

Move over, John Paul. I'm putting Vicodin on the fast track to sainthood.

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