I was a wimp for far too long. When did I start seeing Bones for physical therapy? January or February? In all that time, the second toe on my left foot has been hindering progress, hurting like the dickens when I try to stretch it like I'm told. He has adjusted it manually (I really have to go to my happy place not to tense up waiting for THAT sudden movement), but in all this time, I was terrified of needling that particular referral pattern. It's very localized, unlike some of the others where the myofascial triggers are far away. This one takes a needle right through the top of the foot, on either side of the base of the toe. As it became obvious that I was just delaying the inevitable, I let Bones talk me into it. And what a sales pitch he made. "Don't worry, this one is the least not pleasant." The explanation was awkward, but he was absolutely correct. It wasn't unpleasant. It still stung, and I still feel a little weird, but I think I may have a shot at full mobility again. I am a believer. If you find yourself thinking surgery is your only option for joint or muscle problems, please, talk to a physical therapist first. Not one who just gives you a blurry photocopy of a few exercises, but one who really looks at your skeleton, at your gait and muscle development, who can read you like a book, and who wants to see you more than once. Not everyone can escape surgery, but anyone who can, should.
It's a bad day for pests at the Park. I went out to pick some herbs and chard for lunch, and found that some very hungry caterpillar (one must assume) stripped nearly all of the kale. I suppose I must cut it off and see whether I can get it to send up fresh leaves. I'm still dragging my feet on making a hot pepper spray for the fruits and vegetables, to keep the nibblers at bay. Another one of those logjammed projects. When I went out to get the mail, I found another pile of sawdust. Following the trajectory up, I found another carpenter bee hole, in the BRAND NEW fascia boards of the porch. I have been told how to seal up their holes with them inside of them, but I probably need to call a professional who can do a perimeter search to find all of them. And while I was looking up, I saw two wasp nests, one in the front and one at my back door. This really causes me a crisis of conscience. I want so much to protect the pollinators, but I don't want one of my furry friends to get stung, and I don't want my house to be reduced to dust.
The pretty pregnant calico in British Columbia is still holding those kittens inside. As I started that sentence, she howled like something was making her butt sting a little bit, but as far as I can tell, she hasn't pushed out a single baby yet. I've been glued to a video feed for two days, absolutely certain her time was now. I even watched via phone in bed, when I should have been sleeping last night. She spends most of her time relaxed, chilling on the floor, or sprawled in her foster mama's lap. The only sign that she has any pain at all is the occasional frantic grooming. Let those kittens go already, mama.
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