Therapist from Hell

Well, this final recovery from chemotherapy isn’t quite what I had envisioned. I was fully prepared to have wobbly legs like a colt, to need lots of rest, to take all my meds and herbs, to rinse my mouth out with warm salt water, and all the other tricks I've accumulated along the way. Little did I know that I’d be trapped in the house like I was with the godforsaken surgery drain. This time, however, I am bandaged up like a mummy, knowing that the bandages will play an as yet undetermined part in my future.

Part of the nightmare of this last week is embodied in the lymphedema specialist. You know when you meet someone for the first time and yet you recognize them? You click? As if you've known each other before? Well, with M, it was the opposite. Her gaze sent a chill down my spine. She is not here to help or heal, in fact, her words and actions have had the opposite effect.

Today was the last day of her negative influence. I know this may be surprising but, I am a wimp with personal confrontation. Nonetheless, I put on my big girl panties this afternoon and called to tell the office that I wasn’t comfortable working with her and wanted another therapist. They instantly obliged me, no questions asked.

So, what was the problem with this person who made me cry in the office not once but, twice?

Here are some of her words, delivered during treatment to me over the last week:

“You have a lot of anger issues over your breast cancer and you just need to get over it,”

“Stop being so dramatic,” (when I saw my arm after the pump was removed)

“This is a permanent condition and you just need to deal with it,”

“Just get used to wrapping yourself in bandages, maybe daily for the rest of your life.”

Mind you, this woman doesn’t know me. At all. Knows nothing about me, my attitudes, my strengths, my weaknesses. Except that I just finished Round 6 of chemo and have developed lymphedema.

Besides her remarks, her other behavior has been inappropriate and wrong. Last week, she showed me how to do lymphatic self-massage. This is when it got weird: we are in a small room, with the curtain drawn. First, she pulls her sleeve down to rub her collarbone and shoulder. Okay.

The next thing you know, she whips off her shirt and is standing there in her bra and pants, massaging her chest and arm. I was extremely uncomfortable. Why did she feel the need to doff her shirt? Then, she grabs a roll around her waist and says how now that she is 58 she has love handles. WHAT???

So, why was I afraid to call the physical therapy department and request a different therapist? Isn’t that interesting? Do I care if I hurt this woman’s feelings? No, not at all. Is it more about being uncomfortable if I see her in the department and she knows I requested not to work with her anymore? Maybe. I find it interesting that they made the switch with No questions asked. I am excited to have a new therapist.

So, my world has been small and unpleasant this week. I am processing, going through it and am hoping this will be just another speed bump in my rear view mirror.
That the pump/bandage 24/7 therapy will be over soon. That I can focus on healing my whole body, heart and mind. That next week is new, fresh and I feel strong again.