Happily, I just finished the first round of physical therapy sessions for a small hamstring tendon tear that occurred in March. I’m not sure exactly how it happened but I chalk it up to getting reacquainted with my body after 2020 inertia from shelter-in-place and figuring out how to exercise. Perhaps desperation to make up for lost time was in play too when on my rebounder and hiking.
From the moment I walked into this physical therapy clinic, I felt something was amiss. True to my high sensitivity, sense superseded observance and thought. It turned out the PT that was highly recommended by my orthopedist was 30 minutes late and there was a pervading odor in the main room. Although she seemed attentive for this initial session, I found her to have a strange personality. So, I spent my session answering her limited questions, doing what she asked and monitoring her energy. But, I did it with utmost mindfulness, with utmost consciousness and clarity that what I was feeling and experiencing of something amiss was true and to be honored. This is crucial growth for me. A zillion times in my life starting at a young age, I would find myself in situations where I sensed and observed dynamics in play only to get them dismissed or dismiss them and get stuck in telling myself that there was something wrong with me. This, of course, goes way back to Mom berating me for being sensitive rather than heralding it as a valuable, even sacred asset to be understood and used.
The sessions were interesting. She booked every 20 minutes and wasn’t able to give me undivided attention for the brief 10-15 minutes before she handed me over to her kind but unknowledgeable male assistant. She never addressed me by my name, she inflicted intense pain from stretching my quads without any warning and/or asking how I was doing, she put me on a pilates machine in my socks and walked away, etc. In blurting out that she didn’t think the MRI on my hamstring would show anything, I realized that the exercises she was giving me were aggravating my injury. In addition, my hair and clothes would smell of the unpleasant odor from the disinfectant that attendants repeatedly sprayed all over everything.
Each visit I was close to quitting from the dismissiveness and paucity of communication and attention to detail. My doctor was at the Tokyo Olympics so I couldn’t get another quick referral. I decided to stay for the short term and became very proactive by insisting that some of the exercises were harming me and reviewing all of them, asking more detailed questions, and even bringing my own large towel so that I didn’t leave with the odor. Healing did progress.
I realized that she treats all her patients the same way. It’s just her modus operandi. I didn’t know or hear the names of any of the other repeat patients. As an HSP, simply stated, we’re not a match and in alignment, therefore, I won’t be going back. I love the clarity. Something was amiss. It Just Is.
