I think after today I know how a pincushion feels.
On my (slightly-longer-than-usual) lunch break, I first had the latest in my series of hamstring-injury-related physical therapy appointments. I'm not recovering as quickly as expected, and it was time to try something new. After another painful deep tissue massage, the therapist asked me, "how are you with needles?"
The truth is, needles ain't no thang for me (is that an expression I can pull off?), thanks to previous acupuncture sessions and growing up with a dentist for a father.
"I'm ok with them," I responded, shrugging.
....I may have spoken too soon.
He inserted five needles into the back of my leg, activating not only a twitchy response and the sensation of pins and needles shooting all the way from my lower back to my toes...but also, pain. Ohhhhh, lots and lots of pain. 'Mommy, it hurts!' kinds of pain.
They stayed in for about 20 minutes, with me chanting a mantra to myself about how "thisisformygoodthisisformygoodthisisformygood" over and over, and the therapist repeatedly apologizing to me, since he could tell I was in pain. (Me: "Oh, no! Don't you worry about me! I'm gooood over here!")
When they finally came out, I was limping with residual pain. Which, frankly, is still present seven hours later now, which seems like a counterintuitive result for something meant to eliminate pain. But if this makes any sense, I'm pretty sure this is a "good" kind of pain. Sometimes, things need to get worse before they get better. That's a lesson from today that could be applied to other areas in life, I suppose.
From physical therapy, I headed to my next appointment, which happened to be my annual health check. Height and weight, blood pressure, saliva, and blood tests. (Spoiler alert: I'm healthy, yay!)
"How are you with needles?" the nurse asked.
"Bring it on," I responded.