Crutchless Wonder

Just this past Friday morning I set out for yet another appointment with Epstein's Doctor. I said to my friend as we got closer to the Dr's office, 
"I wish I was going here to be told something new; something like...'Guess what, KB, you only have to pump half the amount of air into your boot/air-cast from now on'...Or, 'You can start bearing some weight and try walking a little with the boot/crutches'...
"But, I know", I continued, "that it's just going to be a - 'Your incision looks good. No signs of infection. See you in 2 weeks...' - kind of appointment."
She agreed, since she was with me the week before when I had an unscheduled appointment because I did have a slight infection: I was told on that* particular day that I had at least 5 to 6 more weeks - both in the boot, and on the crutches - so I figured I knew what I was going to hear on March 25th.

Note: *That appointment was located at the hospital. Zero paperwork for that one. I was told by Epstein's Doctor over the phone to meet him in "The Fracture Room" at high noon - tomorrow.
Don't even ask about that one...somehow, I managed to get a bracelet and be seen by him - even though nobody was expecting me- and I was told upon my arrival, that he was in surgery.
Nurse: "Who was it that told you to be here today?"  Here we go again...

So, I'm all checked in on Friday and we're waiting for my Doctor to come in. I have taken off my boot - that gamey-smelling, nasty, sweaty, pride-insulting thing - and in comes Doc to take a look at things. After barely a glance at my wound, I am hearing, but not fully comprehending his words:
"Everything looks great. The boot is now optional and you can start physical therapy. Wean yourself off the boot and I want to see you again in 6 weeks."
What? I thought I had....Wait. Did he say "wean"? And is that the same thing as "burn"? Because I don't wean; I'm more of a cold-turkey type...so I take his words to mean, "You never have to wear the boot again." I ask him, "So, I don't have to wear the boot to bed anymore?" He says, "Nope." And I say, "Oh my God, I can't wait to go to sleep tonight!" Thoughts are racing through my mind as to what to do with my crutches, now that I don't need them anymore. He means them as well, right? Should I throw them out? Donate them? Mount them on my wall? People have mounted stranger things. Too bad my crutches aren't the old-school wooden kind, because they would look really good.....in my fireplace!!! 
This time, he does give me official paperwork for the PT folks, and we head over there immediately so I can make my first appointment ASAP.

The Physical Therapist is located in a building that I'm already familiar with. I have another Doctor in this building, which as a result of a few prior health scares from this other Doctor, I have dubbed this place "The Bad News Building", so I'm feeling some bad vibes as I enter the lobby.
"Where's their office?" I ask Bean, my ever-present partner in crime throughout this entire ordeal.
"It's down the end of the hall." She knows, because she's been. She's been going to this guy in fact, for years.
I look "down the hall", which is 14 miles long, and the irony doesn't escape me.
"What do you do, schlep all the way down there, check-in, then check-out, because you're done?" The journey to the front desk from the lobby looks like a single session in and of itself. Suddenly, I feel like I'm in one of Gary Larson's "The Far Side" cartoons. We set out to the office. No Sherpa this time.

I have never been to Physical Therapy. I have no idea what to expect when I exhaustedly, feebly and finally crutch through the entrance. I make my first appointment with the receptionist, and while Bean has some business of her own to take care of, I ask if I can take a look around. I make my way around the corner and I am visually introduced to what I can only describe as Utopian Gym. I feel like Dorothy- after her house has been displaced- when she opens her door to Oz. I see all golden goodness and light. I hear music. I see people working hard - hard at trying to overcome whatever physical setback they have endured. They aren't there to socialize; there is no pretense. The only competition is within themselves. I actually see blood, sweat, and tears. These people are living the "No Pain, No Gain" mantra. I love it; it's like a true "gym-rat" type of gym - the only kind I ever liked when I shopped around for a membership. Only this is now a necessity for me, not a luxury.

I meet my guy, Neil. He already knows my story- again, thanks to Bean- and he asks me when I'll be starting. I tell him, "2 weeks from now, which is also my birthday- so bring cake." He laughs, tells me to hang on a sec. He goes over to a computer and comes back.
"That's a bit far out...How about this coming Wednesday instead?"
I'm all over it. I'm gung-ho. This coming Wednesday, I'm there. Ready to begin this new phase of healing.
Ready to ease on down the road....