There’s something a bit daunting going to a massage therapist named Ursula. I’ve been to her before. My oldest daughter raves about Ursula’s talents. But my daughter also loves a deep tissue massage. Me, I just want to feel good. I called Ursula to book an appointment. My physical therapist said it could help my shoulder heal. I must admit, I had some trepidation going. I told Ursula to go easy on me.
Despite the image her name conjurs, this young lady is a delight. About 26ish and just finished getting her degree at BSU. She’s got a great personality, is very sweet and has lovely blue eyes. When the massage ended, I did indeed feel better. Except for the oil slathered all over me. It’s almost not worth going to get gooped up with lotions. I don’t like that part of it.
As I laid there telling Ursula to poke and pull on my bad arm, I couldn’t help wishing I were a cartoon character. The one that gets whacked on the head with an anvil in one scene, and is perfectly fine in the next. It’s been three weeks today since my rotator cuff surgery and it hurts like . . . well, I can’t say it. But suffice to say, think of the worst pain ever and that’s what I feel. It used to be with me 24/7. Now it lingers about 12/7. I don’t take anything during the day so I tough it out and suffer. I have to do exercises three times a day and they are so painful, I just want to give up. But I can’t. I want to be okay again. I want to put my hands behind my head and look up at the clouds from a lounge chair in my backyard. I want to sleep on my left side. I want to type as long as I feel like it and not have my arm hurt. I want to snuggle my hubby on his side of the bed instead of being propped up by pillows on mine. I want to shave my armpit without propping my arm up in the shower. And the day I can put my bra on like a “big girl” and not have to hook it in the front, slid ‘er around to the back ’cause my left arm simply will not rise beyind the waistband of my jeans . . . well, then I know I’ve come a long way, baby!
