As all two of my regular readers may know, I have neck problems. Specifically, one or more bulged disks in my spine. I’m not really all that sure of specifics because I only heard what is wrong with me secondhand via my mother and she tends to forget half of the important things that are said. Anyway, I have been going to physical therapy for a month or so now. My therapist is super nice and very hilarious and his secretary/assistant lady is pretty awesome. However, I had an interesting experience when I went to my session today.

At the beginning of my sessions, we do this deep-heat thing and then I lay on heat pads for fifteen-ish minutes. One thing of note: I am very bad at determining the passage of time. For example, when I am laying on heat pads in a small room, staring at the ceiling, and trying not to move; I cannot tell how much time has gone by. Mostly, I am finding the patterns in the holes and things on the ceiling. Today was no different. I stared up at the ceiling and discovered a few cyclopes.

After the fifteen minutes were over, a little timer thingy in the room started to beep. Normally, the therapist comes in a few moments later and turns the thing off and we continue with the stuff. This time, the timer continued to beep for a minute or so and then stopped. I continued to lay, not moving. Eventually, I looked at my phone and determined that almost five minutes had passed since the timer had stopped beeping. I then proceeded to alternately freak out and calm down for the next ten minutes. I figured I’d been forgotten or abandoned or whatever you want to call it.  I kept convincing myself that they would come eventually.

Finally, I got brave enough to crack the door of the room a little bit so that whenever someone would walk by, they would see me laying there and possibly feel sorry for me.

Eventually, my therapist came again and proceeded to press against every sensitive, little knot in my neck. THEN, he made me lay down with a rolled up towel under my neck for ten minutes (supposedly), which really ended up being fifteen because, once again, he didn’t hear the timer when it went off. Fortunately, his assistant was paying attention and rescued me from the total mental breakdown I’m sure would have happened had I been forced to wait any longer.

In conclusion, I have issues. The first step to solving a problem is to realize that you have a problem, right? Suspiciously, no one seems to know what the second step is. Perhaps next time I’ll fake a heart attack to get their attention…