I’m ten weeks into this round of therapy and I am KICKING BUTT, people. No complaints. None.
I re-tested today in preparation for (a) report to the Insurance Company of whether or not their dollars have been well-spent; and (b) report to the new doc out at Stanford, the spasticity specialist. My therapist, Claude Lamoureaux DPT, she of the French Canadian daring stare, put me through my paces this morning.
When I started with Dr. Claude, my performance in three critical tests was 1/3 of normal for a woman of my age (unimpaired). Today, my scores put me at 2/3 of normal! Take that, STATISTICS! Pow-bang, VIRUS! Even more tellingly, in two of the three areas, I exceeded Dr. Claude’s goals for me, and in a fourth area, I actually did the test whereas, ten visits ago, I got a big fat goose egg!
I’ve taken myself out for breakfast to celebrate. When I walked in Rm 39, a favorite haunt of old, the manager broke into a wide smile. Hey! I haven’t seen you in a while, you look so young! I love your hair! What have you been doing for yourself?
Kickin’ it with Dr. Claude, that’s what.