Chapter 10 #2
I’m repeating all of this inane information to myself as I change in the locker room. The rest of the team is already out on the ice, so I have the space to myself. I quickly disrobe and grab a pair of swim trunks that I always keep on-hand.
My chest feels tight, even though I’ve done this a million times before. The only difference now is that Chase is on the other side of the locker room door, waiting to walk me through the exercises that will help aid in my recovery.
I try to focus on that thought as I fold my clothing and place it in my locker cubby.
When I step into the hydrotherapy room, the humidity hits me first, followed quickly by the smell of chlorine.
I use the coping skills that Chase taught me during my first panic attack to keep myself grounded. There’s a strange buzzing in my limbs that I’m trying to quell, and I’m annoyed that I have no idea where it’s coming from.
I don’t know why I’d be nervous.
But instead of pulling at that thought like a ball of yarn, I slip into my water shoes.
I’m grateful that Chase doesn’t make me stand around like an idiot, waiting for his instruction.
He’s over at the control panel, probably inputting the specifications for the resistance.
“We’re going to start with a walk in the therapy pool.
We can adjust the current depending on your strength level.
This will allow us to start increasing your leg’s muscle mass in a controlled environment. ”
This will be my fifth week of physical therapy with him, and so far, we’ve been focusing on normalizing my gait, slow walking, and working my other muscles to maintain mass and flexibility. I’m excited as all hell to get started rebuilding strength in my left leg.
I walk slowly over to the pool and use the handrail to balance myself on the steps. By the fourth step, I’m submerged up to my chest. “It’s warm,” I say needlessly.
“Ninety-two degrees,” Chase says, still focused on the touch screen control panel. “It helps improve circulation.”
I don’t mention that, if my rapid heartbeat is any indication, my blood is already pumping.
I feel the jets start to whir around me. They’re coming from both sides of the pool to keep me anchored in the center, while the jet in front of me is gently pushing me backward.
I start walking. It’s harder than I expect, but I’m thankful that it’s not painful.
I’m so focused on putting one foot in front of the other–literally–that I forget Chase is there until he instructs from above me, “Place your hands on the stability bar.”
I do as instructed, his commanding words pinging through me.
And just like that, I’m back to the strange feeling in my chest, something that I’ve never experienced before.
I’m trying to rationalize it, but I’m coming up short.
“Anything that I should be focusing on?” I ask, trying to find a way to distract myself.
“Keep your back straight, head up, and your shoulders relaxed. Walk heel-to-toe, engaging your core and swinging your arms naturally to push through the water.”
How have I never noticed his voice before? It’s deep and rich and maybe it’s the warm water, but I feel like I’m being wrapped in a soft blanket and lulled into a trance. It’s the exact opposite of how I should be feeling right now.
“So, what made you want to be a physical therapist?” I ask. It’s a safe, neutral topic. I hope.
“You mean besides my career ending injury?” he says, only it doesn’t seem to land as a joke as much as he’d hoped. I’m not sure what to say when he fills the silence. “I got my undergrad degree in kinesiology, so I’ve always had an interest in the human body.”
I know that the flush on my body is back, but at least I can play it off from the heat and the water.
Because suddenly, I’m thinking about all the focused, practiced attention that Chase provides in a clinical setting and just how much more intense it would be when it’s…
personal. I’ve had his hands on me before and I know from first-hand experience that he’s exceptional at what he does.
“That makes sense,” I finally croak.
He’s still standing at the control panel, looking down at me. “What about you? Why philosophy? I can’t imagine that it’s a popular major for NCAA athletes.”
I scratch at my beard, which I’ve started regularly trimming and grooming again. “I’ve always liked understanding the world and my place in it.”
“And how’s that going for you?” he asks with a teasing smile, though I can hear the genuine curiosity in his voice.
“I’d like to think that it’s helped to make me a better person with a stronger sense of self.” My hands tighten on the support bar. I’m not going to mention that I’ve been driving myself a little crazy trying to make sense of all the confusing new emotions popping up in my life.
His brows furrow. “Doesn’t a sense of self come from, well… the self?” he asks.
It’s been months since I’ve wanted to talk about anything with anyone, but I feel the pull to speak so strongly that I stumble in the water. I right myself quickly and hold up my hand. “Just tripped. No pain, I promise.”
He studies me. “Good to know. You have two more minutes in the water. How do you feel about upping the resistance?”
“Let’s do it,” I agree quickly. And it’s not because I want him to be impressed with me. Mostly. My leg really does feel fine, and I want to get better. Back to playing, even. After our setback when I had my panic attack, I’m done doing stupid things because I don’t care what happens.
It’s not that I’m a people pleaser or anything, but I want to do a good job. For myself. For Chase and all the work that he’s been putting into my recovery.
He hits a button on the panel and the current intensifies.
Now, it really does take all of my focus to stay aligned in the center of the pool and keep moving forward.
It feels good to use my leg like this, the buoyancy of the water making it possible for me to push myself harder than I’ve been able to since my injury.
It’s not until the water stills around me and the room goes quiet that I realize I never answered Chase’s question about sense of self. Because he made a damn good point. I’ve always tried to find my place in the world by holding up a mirror to what’s around me and trying to make sense of it.
But with all the strangeness percolating in my body, I have to wonder what else I’ve missed focusing so hard on understanding the rest of the world instead of myself.