The Physical Therapy Club

Yesterday at 10 am, my friend picked me up, and I became an official member of the Physical Therapy Club. My husband made a joke about how this must be a sign of aging. I used to go shopping or dancing with my friends in high school; now we go to physical therapy together.

I had no idea this world exists! I walked into the building without crutches because my doctor gave me a flexible brace instead of the one I got the day of my injury at the hospital. (One week ago today.) The room where physical therapy takes place is huge — there were over 50 staff and patients altogether. Since I live in a small town, I saw half a dozen of my friends there.

“So, what are you here for?” we asked each other. Back pain, neck pain, recovery from knee injuries. One friend who is 7 months pregnant could hardly walk. “I ran in the Peachtree Road Race,” she admitted, which is a 6-mile marathon on July 4th. “I shouldn’t have done that, I guess.”

Except for the horrible pain I had to go through, I’m looking forward to my twice-weekly social visits in the next month. Aging is not so bad, when we go through it together.