Fiscal Therapy

Almost everyone that I know seems to have a physical therapist in their lives. Either they’re currently seeing one, have recently seen one or are planning to see one.  Kind of the way it was in the ’70s when I and everyone I knew were keeping house plants.

After my knee surgery, I too needed physical therapy.  My friend, Retep, highly recommended a woman whose office was inconveniently located on the Upper East Side.  So for the past several months, I’ve been spending half a day several times a week making my way to see her.  My PT person, Ginny, is absolutely lovely and seems to know what she’s doing.  But the best part of going to my appointment is the period I spend in the waiting room.  I am by far the fittest and often the youngest person in room. This is so much better for my sense of self than going to rock concerts that I’ve aged out of.

The clientele seem to be mostly from the immediate area . . . and mostly, women. Privileged, entitled and somewhat infirm women.  If I were in the market for this particular species, I can think of no place better to meet someone.  Forget dating sites such as Matchless.Com™ or OKStupid© –a physical therapy office would absolutely be the best place to find one’s impaired soul mate.

As for my own PT, I was a little discouraged with the pace of the improvement in my knee so I decided to see my surgeon to find out what he thought was going on.  This was a very sobering visit.  I’ll spare you the details but essentially, Dr. A said that my knee was on a downward trajectory and probably headed for a knee replacement at some point. That is, unless I wanted to abandon playing tennis and take up a different sport.  I think darts and golf were mentioned as alternatives.  I asked him if he’d like to consider taking up a different kind of doctoring. He looked at me oddly and said nothing.

But my knee has improved enough that I’m now playing tennis somewhat regularly again but not nearly at the level I once did.  I can’t tell how dispiriting this it.  Imagine that on Tuesday you are reading War And Peace–in the original Russian–and that evening you bang your head. And you wake on Wednesday only to find that you’re now having trouble following reality TV shows.  Well, that’s what it feels like to me.

I may need a larger apartment

I may need a larger apartment

This kneemoania, along with some other issues, have sent me back into psychotherapy.  As a result, there are days that I just go from one therapy to another. Fortunately, I’m able to keep the two straight and don’t start talking to Ginny about my inner life. Nor do I start doing some knee strengthening exercises at the shrink’s office.  But as you might have figured out, all this therapy doesn’t come cheap.  So I’ve decided to give them both up. A move towards fiscal therapy.  And with the money I’m going to be saving I think I’ll get myself a Ficus tree or two.; maybe some zebra plants. And of course, some jades.  I always loved those.


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