Beginner’s guide to physical therapy

Ever had physical therapy? I have. In fact, I still am. Having it,

that is.

By now, you know the long, uninteresting story of how I broke my

leg skiing 5 months ago. It’s the first time I’ve done anything like

that -- leg-breaking, not skiing -- and I’ve decided to not to do it

again.

I didn’t like it.

Here’s what happens when you break your leg. You fall down. They

pick you up. You go to a hospital. They put you to sleep. They fix

your leg. You wake up. They take you home. You use a wheelchair, then

crutches, then a cane, and then, it’s physical therapy.

I didn’t know anything about physical therapy before I started.

But for the last six weeks, my left knee has been pinched, poked,

prodded and pummeled, twisted, tweaked and torqued. Here’s what I’ve

learned.

One, it works, and two, it hurts. In fact, the two are

intertwined. If it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t work. And if it doesn’t

work, it didn’t hurt.

It took me a while to get into the rhythm because physical therapy

runs counter to my personal approach to health and fitness: “No pain,

no pain.”

But when I feel that overwhelming urge to be pinched and prodded,

I head right down to “ProSport” in Newport Beach, Bristol Street and

Jamboree Road, a few doors from Starbucks.

They are very professional, very friendly, and they make the part

that doesn’t work right work right, faster than you can say anterior

cruciate ligament, which takes a while.

Don’t confuse physical therapy with a massage or a workout at a

health club. Physical therapists have to practice their prodding for

a long time before they become certified prodders, up to and

including post-graduate degrees. My therapist, Joelle, also known by

her professional name, “Mistress of the Dark,” is a master of the

entire process.

There’s a lot of science to it, but here how it works, more or

less. There are two parts to the average PT session. In part one, the

therapist performs a deep muscle massage on the part that doesn’t

work which, in my case, is what physical therapists refer to as “the

knee.” The deep muscle massage is designed to do two things: One,

“wake up the muscles” (a technical term) and two, make you cry and

squeal like a 3-month old who hasn’t eaten since yesterday. After the

muscles are fully awake -- and let me emphasize “fully” -- the

bending, stretching, twisting phase begins, which I find fascinating.

Joelle has gotten my knee, along with the leg where it normally

resides, into positions I never would have dreamed possible. It

hurts, but it’s a lot like a Larry King marriage. It’s ugly, but it

doesn’t last long.

I have to be honest with you. The first time I brought my knee in

for service, I was skeptical. I had my doubts as to whether all the

poking and twisting and prodding was any better than letting time and

nature take their course.

Boy, was I wrong. I was ignorant and uninformed -- but you already

know that. At the end of the very first session -- once they undid

the shackles, took the stick out of my mouth and threw the bucket of

water on me -- my knee had improved more in one hour than it had in

the previous four months. It was a miracle, I tell you.

I walked out of ProSport without a trace of a limp. I was so moved

that I handed my cane to a woman coming out of Starbucks with a

skinny vanilla latte grande and said, “Here, take this. It’s a

miracle!” “If you come any closer I’ll scream,” she said. “God bless

you, I said, which brings us to part two of your basic PT session.

Once you have been adequately twisted and stretched, the physical

therapist turns you over to an assistant who runs you through a

series of exercises -- “exercises” being a figure of speech in my

case. I am especially impressive at the balance drills, in which

you’re supposed to lift one leg a few inches off the floor and hold

your balance for 15 seconds. Most eighty-five year-olds with inner

ear problems and vertigo could do it for about 5 seconds.

After six weeks, my career best is 2.15 seconds, by which point I

am wildly waving my arms like a tightrope walker who is about to

plunge to his death. There’s also a balance board, which I was asked

to no longer use because I was scaring people. When I started,

everyone was very reassuring and told me that everybody has trouble

at first and that all I needed was a little practice and some more

muscle mass around my knee.

Now, they just stare in stunned silence and say things like, “Uh,

yeah, that’s great. Let’s try this next.” But, in spite of my

profound physical ineptitude, it really does work. I used to look old

and beat up and walked funny.

Now, I just look old and beat up. So what have we learned? If

someone tells you that physical therapy is just what the doctor

ordered, do it, especially if the doctor orders it. Hobble on down to

ProSport on Bristol and tell them where it hurts. They’ll know how to

handle it. Just don’t use my name. Physical therapists have long

memories.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at ptrb4@aol.com.