Hippy

Herself has started physical therapy to address the issues she has been experiencing with her hip.  She has been thrice now; first, for an initial evaluation, and then for two separate sessions.  So far, so good. She is pleased that activities like walking, using the elliptical trainer, and even rolling onto her side when sleeping are now relatively comfortable.  It is good to be on the low end of the pain scale.  Kicking in taekwondo is still throbbingly painful, though, particularly when there is any pivoting involved, and that is quite frustrating.  It is clear that further improvement will take quite a bit of time.

The most difficult part of physical therapy has not been the stretches or the exercises, though; It has been the close and undivided attention of the physical therapist.  Having to voice aloud exactly what hurts and where is strange to Herself, because it seems almost like complaining, and complaining is Just Not Done.  Having the physical therapist watch while Herself performs the required exercises is quite odd, too, since it goes against Herself's regular assumption that she is invisible.  To have the physical therapist adjust, align, demonstrate exercises, and measure range of motion and strength in Herself's hip also has required the therapist to occasionally lay hands upon Herself.  The therapist is unfailingly professional, courteous, and informative, but there's a few neurons in the back of Herself's brain that periodically shout in alarm, "AN UNFAMILIAR PERSON IS TOUCHING ME." 

Herself idly wonders whether other individuals have this problem.  People interact through small touches every day; surely not everyone goes to Yellow Alert every time a casual contact occurs?  She sighs, and mentally adjusts her personal space sphere.  She can do this.  It will help her in the long run.