OCT. 4, 2022 - Clay McCollum ruined my life.
It all started with taking out the garbage last March.
I’d walked the same path a thousand times, but this time, THIS TIME, I misjudged the distance from the street to the curb. A second later, my face was in the grass and my shoulder was aching. Fast forward a couple of months, and I find myself in Dr. Charlie May’s office. My rotator cuff was torn; I had a small fracture and a shoulder impingement.
I needed surgery. In my 58 years on earth, I had never once had a scalpel near me. The only time I’d ever been anesthetized was for the colonoscopy my doctor scheduled to celebrate my 50th birthday. This was new territory.
When I told folks what was coming, I had a nice line of well-intentioned friends warn me that physical therapy was going to be my introduction to hell on earth. Physical therapists were renamed “physical terrorists” in descriptions of torture and pain.
If I didn’t already work at Floyd, I might have expected Clay McCollum, my PT, to walk in wearing a Jason mask, armed with tools of torture. Nothing could have been farther from reality. Clay challenged me, but always with instruction to stop if it caused sudden or severe pain. He gradually and thoughtfully added motion and weight as my arm healed, and, four months after starting PT, he pronounced me ready to go it alone. To be clear, there were exercises I hated (I have no desire to EVER hold a weighted medicine ball against a wall and shimmy it up and down and back and forth again), but even then, I knew Clay was looking to get me back to as close to 100% as possible.
I was disappointed when I learned that 100% was probably an unrealistic goal. I never liked 90s or 95s on tests. I was further disappointed when he told me I should still take precautions when reaching behind or lifting weights. Still, I followed Clay’s prescription to a tee.
One day he had me stand with my back touching the wall and asked me to raise my arms, each to its own side. He instructed me to keep my elbow against the wall and bend my forearm up at a 90-degree angle, pointing toward heaven. You know, the classic show-me-your-muscle pose, only with my palm facing forward.
Next, he told me to rotate my shoulder and arm back and to touch the wall with the back of my hand. My left arm, the non-surgery arm, complied as requested, but my right arm? Not so much. Try as a I might, there was no convincing my right hand to touch the wall. I was not at 100%, and this frustrated the hound out of me.
Until that moment, I had never once stood against the wall to see if I could touch my knuckles to the wall with my elbows raised. I can’t even imagine a time in life when I would NEED to do that, but the realization that I can’t do it now makes me want to. Like really badly.
And there it is.
Torture.
Ok, Clay didn't ruin my life, but he did teach me a few lessons.
Lesson One. I realized just how much like Adam and Eve I am. The world’s first couple had everything they could have ever wanted, except one thing. They so badly wanted the fruit from that one, off-limits tree that they forfeited perfection for it. Sometimes the cost isn’t worth the reward. I don’t know if that will apply to my arm, but it sure as heck does in other parts of my life.
Lesson Two. I don’t have to do everything, especially if I’m not mentally or physically able. There are days when I push myself to the limit to prove that I can or to avoid saying “I can’t.” If I asked him, I know for a fact that Clay would say it’s okay if you can't do everything.
Lesson Three. I can’t touch the wall with the back of my hand in the position Clay prescribed, but I can touch it if I face the wall or approach the wall from the side. Sometimes, we get caught up in doing or accomplishing a task in the way it’s always been done, without ever considering an alternative. Phooey on that way of thinking, except when you're rehabbing your shoulder.
Lesson Four. The reality is that touching the back of my hand to the wall from any position other than with my back against the wall won't help me right now. Sure, there are other ways, but they don't lead to healing or push me to try. Sometimes, the hard things are necessary. And just because you can’t do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. There’s healing and progress in the trying.
Clay didn’t ruin my life. He preached a sermon.
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