Physical Therapy

I've been driving one of our students to Boise once or twice a week for her physical therapy appointments. They are only minor and quick visits, but it's interesting to observe the non-emergency atmosphere of the hospital. I much prefer it. I get a particular taste of the orthopedics ward at St. Luke's. My student is a "regular" by now; this is not her first round of therapy for her arm. Every time we come, she is greeted warmly by every receptionist, as well as multiple doctors and medical assistants who pass by. We take a seat in the little lounge around the corner from the office and critique the mostly-ugly, lobby-esque paintings on the walls while we wait.

I'm lucky: the nature of the appointments is casual, and the friendly PT invites me to sit in. It's overall a good experience! I end up learning quite a bit about nerve damage and development while she is undergoing various stretches to rehabilitate full movement without pain. The PT has her twist her hand almost fully around, upside down, while bending it backwards against a wall-- counting seconds. Sometimes, he has her hold rolls of tape between her fingers to spread and stretch all the tendons in her hand and arm. Ow. But she can hold them AND do the stretch successfully. While the PT stretches out my student's arm beside and behind her head as she reclines, he gets her talking about school and boys, almost always sparking an animated (or possibly exasperated) conversation. He, too, is an Adventist, familiar with Gem State and the rest of "our world," so it's easy to chat. I appreciate how he reliably brings up a good point of spiritual discussion, sharing with us his own latest goals to love God more, notice His gifts more, let go of more worries, and daily endeavor to rely completely on Jesus. He is encouraging and practical, bestowing both the student and myself with calm life-reassurance that only seems to come with time and older age. We barely notice as the whole 45-minute appointments glide by.

Driving home, we listen to the radio and talk lightly. When we reach the school, it's approaching supper time and the dorm is its happy, busy, bustling self. More often than not, I feel like I have experienced a therapy session of my own.