eight(.)five

On a scale of one to ten he said I was an 8.5, not something he would like to see in a person my age. My knee injury was an 8.5, really?
It has been about five weeks post surgery. As of TODAY I have ditched the crutches completely, I am hobbling at lightning speed with one hand on the wall like I am two sheets to the wind (well not yet, at least), I can actually start to work on my range of motion, past the 90 degrees I have been working with and I can start to swim, even get on a stationary bike *gasp*. Now the real work begins. What I have been doing has been productive and self-satisfying, but I now feel like I have a neon sign above my head that only the physical therapist can see that is blinking, “begging for pain.” I can handle all the strength training you can shove at me, I will not get tired and complain about it and I can stretch for hours, but breaking down scar tissue is like running over your own leg and then as if that wasn’t enough you have a friend back up over it for you as if it brought so much pleasure. It is just not fun, I have yet to meet a person who will tell you otherwise. My doctor was very candid with me, bringing me back down from my 26 year golden cloud in the sky; this is going to take a good nine months, Michelle. I have yet another obstacle in the recovery road, I am a “skinny athlete” *hhhmmmmm* kind of like “skinny fat” where sure I am fit but I have no bulk to my muscles. My quadriceps look like my calves and that has to change to prevent any further injury. That neon sign just started to flash “she loves squats and lunges!”
On the bright side, because there is always a bright side; I can walk and my knee is incredibly stable, a feeling in which I have not experienced in almost one and a half years!
Cheers, here is to the recovery, the long recovery, the ups and the downs and most of all: the light at the end of the tunnel!