Physical Therapy- First Visit

After a few phone calls and a few conversations I finally, yesterday, visited a physical therapist. Prior to my elevator ride to the second floor of the INI building on Randolph, I had to fill out about 10 pages of forms asking for information ranging from the expected to the bizarre. One form (this form was supplied by the INI, which has me documented as an ALS patient), asked me to check off my ailment, the offered list ranging from heart attack to dementia, Parkinson's and other, with no listing for ALS, which I had to display as "other". It's curious to me that my disease, a muscle degenerating, bilateral physically debilitating disorder would not be listed under "A" for Amyotropic Lateral Sclerosis when attending a physical therapy session. I mean, this disease whacks out, piece by piece, my arms, my legs- doesn't that scream "PT!"?
To jump ahead, upon returning home, Amy suggested I should have laughed at the paperwork and handed it back, reminding them I can't write BECAUSE I HAVE ALS! I didn't think of that so I scribbled through each page in my newly concocted Egyptian hieroglyphic design. Apparently it was good enough for them, as unintelligible as it was. Might be they don't actually read it at all.
Interestingly, many questions asked specifics involving my state of mind. Am I happy, sad, am I prone to depression, are things working out for me? These are hard questions to answer on 2 inches of space when you can't write, so I simply wrote "I have ALS. You figure it out." I am, of course, paraphrasing, sarcasm probably finds me in a bad way with their therapists. I cannot, however, remain silent, so I write something with which they can worry their brains.
Soon I was led to the elevator, learning that this was the way to the second floor (of a 2 story building, no less). I was joined by the nice receptionist lest I hit a wrong button or turn the wrong way upon arrival. I was greatly relieved when we completed the journey skyward and the doors opened up to the correct level. I even sensed my travelling partner exhaling her stress when she spied the reception desk and a handful of limpers, cane bearers and wheel chair residents. I felt for her. My empathy flowed. I only had to make this trek on the occasions I visited the clinic- she shouldered the burden many times a day. (I do exercise creative liberty when I go melodramatic, so don't accept more than a grain of my version). Real life is just too boring sometimes, so I magnify actions on occasion; be aware, though, all embellishments are rooted in real actions at all times.
The actual session of PT was half discussion and half testing. I am to blame for our hour extending to nearly two because I have researched hell out of all this stuff and I needed answers to questions likely not asked by the average guy. Examples include whether Myofascia Release would be advisable or helpful, whether strength training to less affected muscle groups would bolster such groups and help me walk better; would isometric exercises improve resistance performance in affected tissue, would ligament, tendon manipulation and extension ward off rictor or paralysis, whether muscle re-education have any positive effect, or whether muscle memory could be reinstated to combat my degeneration. I'm sure I asked more.
My PT was expert, cordial, helpful and explicit in her assessment. So many times recently, I have found that the professionals I've met with have knowledge in their specific field, but lack education in the specifics of my disease. They suggest general remedies that, through my own research, have no documented advantage for me in my fight with ALS. While PT falls under the category of symptom analysis and treatment, I was excited to hear what works to deal with my degeneration in a tangible way, with specific duties I can engage to stave off the future. I was also thrilled to hear that, while dealing with mobility issues, moving forward with my new regiment will keep me on my feet longer. I fear the day I must enlist a rolling chair, but after yesterday, I feel I can kick that sucker farther into the future. That is a good thing. I even plan to get a t shirt emblazoned with "I am a Weeble" (remember, Weebles wobble but they don't fall down).