Day 253: Terapy

Sorry for the delay…life has been a litttttle crazy recently.  But don’t worry – so has Nonna.

I hate to break this news to all of you…but, Nonna is a victim of the “aging” process.  Yes, my once invinceable Nonna is now experiencing pains commonly associated with thirty year olds.  It is, as you can imagine, pretty depressing for the “hoe bag” (old bag).  Specifically, Nonna is suffering from an ailment which plagues most major league baseball pitchers:  arthiritis in her rotator cuff.  This has been caused by years of her doing what my sister Brittany would call “absurd” things like: moving large appliances, serving crazy amounts of food, repairing plumbing, jarring tomato sauce, beating her children (kidding…).  Though Nonna attempted to ignore the serious pain for a long period of time (approximately 3-5 years…no joke) she finally went to the doctor.  After a failed attempt to administer a sedative, er…steroid…, the doctor sent her to physical therapy. 

Nonna loves physical therapy.  I think its partially because Nonna loves people to compliment her for doing things well.  For example, when Nonna broke her hip she took great pride in impressing the physical therapists with her unbelievable will to walk normally and progress at super human speeds.  This time is no different. Except for the fact that Nonna is a professional.  Just prior to beginning physical therapy Nonna informed me that she could do it all by herself but she was going to “see what the t-er-a-pist hassen to say.”  After going to the therapist, and realizing that therapy for your arm is quite different from therapy to yournleg, Nonna was slightly discouraged.

But, like any good major league athlete, Nonna took to practicing in her off season.  This includes windmills, stretching, and swinging of pots and pans to “stretchin everything out.”  The next time she went to therapy, she had advanced beyond the stretches previously administered.  So much so that the therapist graduated her to 1lb weights. 

Nonna accordingly adjusted her “at home” training.  Today, I came home to her “resting” her arm by placing it on top of her head. 

Me: Non, is your arm bothering you?

Nonna: No, I am 75% better.

Me: What?

Nonna: I am 75% better. I swing big pots now.

Me: Who said you were better?

Nonna: Me.

Me: How do you know?

Nonna: Because I knowin my body and my body says I am 75% better.

Me: What about the therapist?

Nonna: The ter-a-pist don have nothing to do with it.  But she showin me a good stretch.  You gonna do this five times a day.  [Nonna proceeds to walk to the door way, place her hands on the side of the door and thrusts her chest forward for five seconds.]

Nonna: You count to five and then you re-a-lease. Then you do it again.  You try.

Me: [performs door stretch] Actually this does feel pretty good.

Nonna: My ther-a-pist is a smart woman.  She telling me secrets like this.

Me: Well, that is her job.

Nonna: No, she givin me special treatment because I am number one.

Me: Oh, how could I forget.

Nonna proceeds to continue stretching.  “I gonna tell you one more thing.  She saying I can mowin my lawn or lift the air conditioner into the wall.”

Me: Uh…duh.

Nonna: I hate on these rules. Why my arm don lettin me put in your air conditioner?

Me: Maybe its a good thing you hurt your arm.

Nonna: Pretty soon my life is over.

Me: Here we go…

Nonna: First my arm…then I die.

Me: Yep that is how it goes..

Nonna: Tellin your Uncle [the funeral director] I wan everyone to cry at my funeral.

I walked away from her at that point.  She cursed at me in italian and resumed her stretching.  I’m hoping she’ll be ready for the wiffleball tournament which I have decided will follow my wedding next year. Given that she is only 75% better, I am concerned.

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