Today ended my home care physical therapy. My physical therapist shook my hand and congratulated me and said it was a pleasure to work with me, that I'm doing very well, and when I get the next knee done call again. I certainly will. I am now officially out on the streets, so to speak. Let loose on the population again. With my -4 degree extension and 112 degree flex.
I wish I could be completely happy about this. Of course I look forward to getting into a physical therapy office with equipment that will make some of this work easier. But there is that tiny part of me that feels a little sad at ending another relationship, short though it was, and medically necessary though it was. I felt a loss when I left the transitional care center, too, leaving behind the caring therapists I worked with there. I think the nature of this work makes the forming of some kind of bond automatic if the therapist is any good. And my life isn't exactly full of relationships that really cut to the bone, in a way.
So I will mourn a little bit even as I contemplate the world opening in front of me.