How Am I Doing?

I'm exhausted, thank you very much.

I was structurally integrated, trigger point manipulated, rolfed and stretched and pressed and pulled today.  This is not a therapy for amateurs; it requires allowing the practitioner to gain access to the deepest muscles, the ones hiding behind other organs, nestling up against the spine.  They are not easy to touch, since normal human beings prefer to keep them safely stashed away.  Getting in there is filled with intense sensations.

"You are going to thank me later," she said, recognizing in my growling a threat to her immediate safety.  She asked me to extend my right leg, flexing my foot at the ankle, reaching my heel toward the window framing her blue doorway.

BREATHE, painted in yellow on that blue lintel, was mocking me as I gasped.

Instructed to drop my pelvic floor as her forearm pressed and rolled inexorably down my IT band, I found the sensation somewhat more bearable.... emphasis on the somewhat.  By her third pass around my outer thigh, my breathing was almost back to normal.... almost.

After a little bit of this and a little bit of that, my shoulder girdle was seated comfortably atop my spine, which was hanging delightfully from my skull, neither tethered to my back nor straining to remain erect.  My hips were even; the left side of my neck was no longer holding up my right hip.

And I felt great.

I felt even better when TBG smiled around "Great walking this afternoon!"  My undamaged ball rolled around in my repaired hip socket with nary a hitch as my knee bent and my arms swung freely and there was no lurch at all. Nothing hurt.  Nothing felt stronger than any other part and nothing asked for help.

She was right.  I am grateful.  As Gabby said in her last fundraising letter, rehab from gun violence is the hardest work I've ever done.  And just like my Mommy told me, hard work is rewarded.  I proved it to myself today.