Feeling strong physically and mentally

Last week, I “graduated” from physical therapy I was having for a pinched nerve in my neck. I didn’t receive a diploma, but I received a cool T-shirt that says “Physical Therapy Brings Motion to Life” and a sheaf of papers showing me the different exercises I need to continue to do on my own.

More important than any diploma is the strength that I found in physical therapy.

Darius, Katie, and Kyle made up my  PT team.

Different people in my family and in Larry’s family have, over the years, given physical therapy a bad name. In my opinion, they haven’t seemed to take it seriously and have seemed to view it as something to get through—to go through the motions—before what was really desired could happen: surgery.

I was determined that I was not going to have that attitude.

Surgery is sometimes needed. It’s sometimes the best option. But if other, less invasive, options are possibly in the end just as effective, why not try them and give them our best shot?

My orthopedic doctor was very clear with me about my options and even wrote out a list: medication, physical therapy, epidurals, surgery. He circled medication and physical therapy and said we would start with those.

I pointed to the word surgery on the paper and told him I had no plans for that.

“Work hard in therapy, OK?” he said.

And I did. I have done the stretching exercises at home and the movement exercises at PT, lifting weights, pulling on resistance bands, lying on my stomach while I lifted my affected arm over and over.

And I received so much encouragement from the staff at the rehab center. They had such positive attitudes. They challenged me physically and celebrated with me as I became stronger.

And I saw how they treated other patients. Sometimes I could see pain in the faces of people as they struggled to get better. The therapists and assistants were partners in that journey.

At the end of each PT session, I used the cervical traction machine. It was in a room off the main area where most of the therapy was done.

As I lay on the table and had my head pulled away from my neck (sounds painful, but it actually felt good), I could hear sounds from the main room. I heard therapists and assistants asking other patients how they were, expressing sympathy, setting out plans, counting out exercises, encouraging them.

What a positive place to be, I thought.

I still have pain. It got worse after I stopped taking prescription NSAIDS. But it’s not as bad as it was. And my muscles in and around my shoulders and neck are getting stronger. I know more about how my posture affects how I feel.

I had a talk with the main physical therapist on my last day, and we discussed future options. He assured me that I could get better.

That helped strengthen my belief that I have a lot of control in my recovery. There is a lot I can do to get better. And isn’t that true with anything in life, physical, mental, and emotional? We don’t have control over everything, but we can do our best with what we do have control over.

Now I’m going to work on my strength at the Altavista YMCA, where Larry and I are members. My plan is to go over today after I finish at the newspaper office and sort out which machines will work the right muscles. I also have elastic bands to work with at home.

And I am going to get even stronger.

In what ways are you trying to get stronger?

Have OCD? You have something to be proud of

Trees: symbols of strength to me.

I’ve been reading Freedom From Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: A Personalized Recovery Program for Living with Uncertainty, by Jonathan Grayson, Ph.D., and though I’ve experienced OCD for most of my life, and I’ve read a lot about it over the years, this book is reminding me that I still have much to learn.

I like how Grayson specifically addresses people with OCD. Anytime he addresses “you,” he’s talking to OCD sufferers.

And his writing starts off with a bang by raising our awareness that those of us with OCD have a lot to be proud of.

Proud?

  I’ve written before about my first psychiatrist called me “high functioning” and how disconcerting that was to me. I didn’t feel like I was functioning very well on any level because obsessions and compulsions filled all of my time.

What I had been able to do, though, was to stay in school, complete a master’s degree and make good headway into a doctoral program. I was able to teach writing and literature classes. I had my own apartment and paid my bills.

What I may be have been displaying is something Grayson referred to in his book: “You [people with OCD] function in the world, and you don’t appear to be in obvious distress. Unlike the extreme cases publicized in the press and on talk shows, your OCD doesn’t seem to be much of a difficulty to live with” (p. 4).

In 1990, I managed to live an outwardly “normal” life while struggling with OCD.

To OCD sufferers, Grayson said, “This ability of yours to successfully function under stress has a special name: competence” (p. 5).

Grayson said all people who are successful have this ability to perform well under stress, but they have to rely on the ability less than people with OCD.

Think about it

If you have OCD, have you ever been able to go to school, go to work, work at home, volunteer, take care of children, or do anything at all even while feeling extreme anxiety from your obsessions and compulsions? Then you were displaying competence.

Of course, there are times when none of us can be competent in this sense of the word. Hard times come and it’s all we can do to get through the day and have time to do anything other than rituals.

But look back over your life and consider how much you have accomplished, despite having OCD.

Competence: helpful and not helpful

Grayson said competence could be a positive thing and a negative thing.

“On the one hand, it allows you to function in the world. . . . It is important for you to recognize this strength in yourself” (p. 5).

Reading that made me feel proud of not only myself but of all of you dealing with OCD. I agree with this statement of Grayson’s: “Bravery is not a feeling; bravery is how you behave when you are scared. You are among the bravest people I know. The strength and competence you are accustomed to using in order to get through your daily life can help you succeed in treatment” (p. 5).

Competence has a negative side, too, according to Grayson: “It has led many of you to delay seeking treatment. After all, if you are trying to hide your problem, seeking treatment might be a flag to others that something is wrong” (p. 5).

And just because we are able to function doesn’t mean we’re not suffering: “Though you may succeed in appearing ‘normal’ to the outside world, you know something that non-sufferers don’t: You know how anxious you feel” (p. 6).

People with OCD are not better or stronger than the general population. But we display strength that is worthy of mention.

So take a minute to delight in your strength, and make plans to use it for the good.

  If you have OCD, have you ever considered yourself brave and strong? If you know someone with OCD, have you ever witnessed those qualities in him or her? For all of you, how do you define strength?