I have an injury. Since I am rarely ever sick or injured, and I am highly active, I never pay much attention to how disheartening an injury can be.
The doctor was not very hopeful when we met; he intimated that I’d have to manage it for a very long time.
So for the last few weeks while I waited for my first physical therapy appointment, I resolved that I would do whatever I could to make sure it didn’t get worse over the course of many years. I would formulate a plan and follow it every day.
When I finally sat down with the physical therapist, I was eager to hear what he had to say.
About fifteen minutes into our session, he nonchalantly suggested that I’d be OK and quite possibly have no symptoms at all in a relatively short time (months, not years.)
I asked, “Are you sure?” He wouldn’t commit to that – I understand why – but clearly his view was not as dark and gloomy as the one I’d been preoccupied with.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be one-hundred percent better, with no symptoms of pain in my back.
What I do know is that a drop of hope is worth a thousand gallons of effort towards getting there.