Occupational Therapists Who Should Not Be Suicide Counselers, Or: My Visit with Kate

  Before I forget, I just wanted to say that I usually have typos in here because I don't edit until a day or two later.  Most of them are eventually fixed.

  So I hope everyone likes the large, intrusive search engine I added to the top of my journal.  By the time AOL is done, journal entries are going to be pop-up boxes that you can access by clicking on printable McDonalds coupons.

  It turns out that coban is mostly sold in medical supply stores, so the hunt deepens tomorrow.  There was more I wanted to say about therapy today, so I thought I'd let myself be inspired by journal-friend Lisa, who always goes into great detail about doctor visits.  Here is everything I can remember happening today:

  As I said earlier, Kate was very surprised at how swollen and red my wrists were and thinks that I should have been going to therapy ever since the operations.  I said it looks like I tried to kill myself and she agreed.  Then she added, "though I've heard it's better to slice vertically.  For next time."  I told her that is the least useful advice I've ever gotten.  She said that she wouldn't have said it if she had thought I was really suicidal.  This is how comfortable people can get with my laid back persona- suicide jokes within the first ten minutes.  I have to say that Kate was the therapist I had during my first week of therapy back in January and she remembered me, so we weren't total strangers.   

 We tested my grip strength and I am perversely proud to say that I have reverted back to being one of the weakest men in the world.  My numbers did not register on the chart for thirty-year-old men.  Next she beat the crap out of me and kicked me out of the office for wasting valuable time she could be spending helping crippled old people.  That didn't really happen- just making sure you're still paying attention.  What she really did was flick me on the wrists!  Damn, that hurt.  Can't you see how swollen and red my wrists are, woman?

  After that she told me all about the things I have to do at home and all that coban stuff, until it was finally time for the sand machine of death.  They have this contraption you have to sit down in front of and stick your arms into.  Onceyou are strapped in, the machine whips hot corn husks all around your arms.  It's supposed to feel good, but I hate it.  One, I don't like losing the use of both my arms- that is just a cue for my body to get really itchy.  Second, when you finally pull your arms out, you have a whole lot of crap stuck to them.  I could do without that machine, I tell you.

  Here's some of the interesting things I have to do at home:

Desensitization: This stuff supposedly is going to help my wrists not be so sore, but to me it just seems weird.

  I have to rub them 3 times daily with felt, velvet, terry cloth, velcro and burlap.  Then I have to stick my hands into coffee cans full of cotton, cloth, rice, popcorn, pinto beans, macaroni and sand. 

But here's my two favorite parts.  "This procedure should be done for  a minimum of ten minutes...preferably in a quiet room."  My poor wrists need quiet!  That would really be funny if this last part didn't take the cake.

  In the office, Kate told me to use an electric toothbrush, but that's not what it says on my take-home paper.  I'm just going to type it up verbatim.

"Vibration: Use a vibrator at the lowest setting and gradually increase speed to tolerance.  Start by placing the vibrator head around and move over the sensitive region as tolerated.  In addition to assisting with desensitization, vibration also relaxes muscle that may have "tightened" due to pain or muscle tension."

 

  Great, now not only do I have to find a medical supply store tomorrow, I also have to find a sex shop.