Despite our efforts, my lowest scar has developed an adhesion -- meaning the scar tissue is now stuck to the bone. Ick! If I push the skin by it, the scar stays stuck in place. It's pretty freaky-looking. The only way to fix it, as I understand it, is to rub it firmly until all the scar tissue breaks free from where it's stuck. Ouch.
I've been massaging it, but I can't inflict the necessary amount of continuous force on myself to fix it. I start to, then it makes me hurt, cringe, and finally I start shaking my hands and shoulders violently, unable to continue. I think it is some sort of reaction to my mental conflict between wanting to push away the hands that are hurting me, yet at the same time actually being the hands that are hurting me.
This morning my PT worked on it for me, rubbing hard, trying to break up the scar tissue. I sat with my face twisted up in a grimace, my hand in my mouth. I started biting one of my fingers to distract myself from the pain. As she kept going, I started whimpering involuntarily. She kept rubbing, saying to me, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"I know, I know," I replied with a cringe. She stopped for a moment, went to the cupboard, and pulled out a paper towel. She handed it to me, and I looked at it dubiously. I wasn't sure what she expected me to do with it -- twist it up and stuff it in my mouth, so I could bite on it like a bullet? "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Whatever you want to," she told me. A moment later she added, "I thought I heard you sniffing." Then she attacked the scar tissue with renewed vigor.
Now I understood: she thought I was crying. Oddly enough though, I don't cry when I'm in pain. I'll make nasty faces, I'll whimper, and sometimes I'll even cry out and yell loudly.....but I don't cry. I can't remember when the last time I've cried from physical pain alone (mental pain, now that's a different story). I wonder why that is?
Anyway, at one point she exclaimed triumphantly, "There, did you feel that? I felt a pop!"
"That's great," I told her. "Does that mean we're done?"
"No, but I got one of them."
"Good -- how many more are there?"
"I don't know, it depends. But we got one!" I tried to feel pleased, but the fact that she was still torturing my knee made it difficult. Eventually she stopped though, telling me that it was enough for today. I was relieved, even though the scar is still stuck.
On the plus side, my day had nowhere to go but up. As F pointed out to me when we talked on the phone a moment ago: if you eat a live frog every morning, your day can't get any worse. My PT was my live frog this morning, and the rest of my day got better and better from there!