Finally.

I am officially a nerd. After days of sweating it out, they finally posted my grades. The verdict: I have successfully survived this semester.

I don't post these to brag. To me, these are more than just As. These are beacons of hope. This says to me, yep, I can do this. I can be a physical therapist. I'm not just capable in the warm-and-fuzzy, right-brained creative field; I can be capable in the black-and-white, left-brained exact science field as well. Which was something I definitely had my doubts about.

No more doubting. The theme song of Mary Tyler Moore keeps popping intp my head: Courtney, "You're gonna make it after all!"

Perseverance is a beautiful brutality.

It's 3 a.m. on a work night, but I've had my second cup of coffee and well, I rarely drink coffee, so I'm feeling inspired and energized to return to my neglected blog.

I've been up studying since 10 for a test on the anatomy of muscles and articulations, right down to the filaments that cause muscle contractions. It's fascinating. And grueling. And it's moments like this when I start to wonder if I made a big mistake. What am I thinking?

The luxury of free time is foreign to me at this point. I haven't even been able to step foot back in the therapy gym, which pains me. My husband is living and working two states away, and I've battled a monstrous sinus infection, herniated disc, and stomach ulcer this semester. I've had to step down from a position at work that I worked my butt off to earn and loved enough that it made me think about quitting school right then to keep it. I've had to cut back on freelance work. What am I thinking?

Am I sure I can do this? I keep getting asked this question by observant skeptics. How am I going to excel in physical therapy school, or even get in, when I look like I've seen the losing end of a bar brawl with this semester?

Honestly, I don't know. I have no idea what my schedule will be like next week, much less how it will be manageable when (when, not if) I get into the DPT program. I have no idea how I'm going to pull off an A on my test in a few hours, much less an A in both classes this semester. But I do know this: I have a tendency to surprise myself. Of course, my faith plays a crucial role in empowering me to persevere, so persevere I will. Why? Because that's what I'll ask my patients to do every day that I go to work as a therapist. They will have to persevere through the challenges that they face in their own lives. So why shouldn't I have to as well? One has to be a conqueror in order to inspire others to conquer. I will be right there with them, cheering them on because I know what it's like to face a mountain and feel overwhelmed. But by the end of this, I'll know what it looks like on the other side.

Challenges can sprout substance. Perseverance grows it.

monkey see. monkey do.

I got to perform actual physical therapy yesterday!

Well, just leg strengthening exercises, under the direct supervision of a licensed PT, but still. I was in there, getting my hands dirty. Except there was no dirt. And I was pretty amusing to the patients, too.

One guy was practically placing bets on how long it would be before the exercise band slipped from my hands and smacked him on the legs. It didn't happen. I should've bet real money.

An elderly woman broke into a huge smile when she discovered my dimples. Another one loved my bird necklace. She was so mesmerized that she actually did more leg extensions with me than she had ever been able to do. What a great feeling!

Other tasks: wheeling residents to and from the therapy gym without running their wheelchairs into walls, food carts, or other residents (it's harder than it looks); educating a family member (and myself) how to assemble footrests on wheelchairs, occupying some of the patients while they're waiting their turn so they don't attempt to leap from their chairs unsupervised (maybe leaping is an exaggeration, but I like to think my task was that crucial), throwing a ball with one resident to keep her calm, fetching equipment for the PTs, and helping some of the patients with their leg extension exercises (while keeping count on repetitions, which is harder than it sounds). 

All in all, I'd say it was a most fulfilling way to spend part of my Labor Day.

i just bought my weight in textbooks.

It's for real. I'm officially a Cougar.

No, not a past-her-prime woman who prowls on unsuspecting younger men. A Cleveland State Community College Cougar. Class started today, and I'm just coming out of my mini freakout session. I didn't just buy a textbook for my Anatomy & Physiology class. I bought a "packet." This packet includes 12 pieces of literature: my textbook, lab manual, Atlas of the Human Body (not quite as fun as it sounds), Applications Manual, Get Ready for A&P (no kidding!), Practice Anatomy Lab interactive DVDs, Interactive Physiology (not just one DVD, but a "10-system suite"), Mastering A&P tutorial set (maybe I should start there), and four quick study guides.

I could barely carry all of this to my car, by the way. My textbook has more pages than my Holy Bible. No kidding. So many pages that even the publisher got tired of numbering them all and stopped about 3/4 of the way through.

I was going to start studying tonight, which both my lab instructor and lecture professor strongly encouraged—no, vehemently exhorted—me to do, but I was so shell-shocked by the amount of material (and amount of purchase: $280 for one class is a record for me) that I had to stop and take pictures of the monstrosity. (Of course. What else would a creative-type be expected to do?) It took a while, seeing as how I had to arrange all 12 pieces on the floor in an aesthetically pleasing way. Then I had to text the picture to all my friends for their reactions. After I got a few responses, I felt a blog post coming on. And, here I am. Haven't read a word in the book yet.

Get this: I have to dissect not only a cat, but a human! I passed out the first time I got contacts; how am I going to manage dismembering a formaldehyde-soaked organism?

The upside of my day? I knew one of the answers on the pre-test we took today simply because of my time spent in the rehab gym on Saturday. It had something to do with the word "plantar," and I remembered talking about foot flexions (sp?) with the Baylor PTA. So, that's something.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this...

getting my hands dirty.

Wow. What a day! I spent seven hours at the rehab gym today with a Baylor PTA, probably one of the nicest people I've ever met. She explained everything in so much detail that I felt like I was already in school, furiously scribbling notes as she discussed treatment plans and documentation.

Medical terminology from today:
supine—from a lying down position
bilateral—both, as in bilateral lower extremities
dorsal flexion—pulling the foot up
plantar flexion—pushing the foot down

I had a moment in which I considered becoming a PTA instead of a PT because of the amount of paperwork a PT does versus the amount of patient care a PTA does. But I think I will like the break in seeing patients. And I've never minded paperwork, though I don't care much for shorthand and acronyms. I'm a writer, which will come in handy, but I can't imagine what my documentation will look like. It will definitely have perfect grammar. And it will probably be written entirely in AP style.

But I digress. We saw four patients today, and I actually got to be hands-on; grabbing equipment, entertaining the patients (all residents at the facility), cleaning up spilled water—I know, it doesn't sound that glamorous, but I was thrilled to actually get my hands dirty.


Important lesson of the day: Getting along with the nursing staff is crucial. The PTA I worked with had the respect and favor of everyone on the nursing staff, and they were willing to work with her in getting patients ready for therapy. She spoke to everyone she encountered, kept a smile on her face, interacted with each resident, and did it all while coaching me through the process. What an amazing person!

After lunch we saw a dementia patient. I'll admit, I almost took my Chick Fil A and made a mad dash through the secured exit. I wasn't sure I wanted to come back after lunch; I wasn't sure I could handle what might come next. I had no idea what to expect, except that I was praying it wasn't a screamer or a cryer. It wasn't. It was actually one of the sweetest, most adorable elderly men I've ever met, and though he fell asleep several times during his treatment, when it was time to throw the ball to each other, he livened up quite a bit. He held his head down most of the time, but occasionally he would look up from underneath his black corduroy pageboy with his wide blue eyes and smile at us as if he was wholeheartedly enjoying the undivided attention from two young women. And each time, my heart would melt.

So far, so good.

my first time.

Being in the rehab gym today was like a breath of fresh air. I've been a little overwhelmed with the abundance of change in my life right now. I'm going back to school. My work schedule has changed. My husband's working in another state. These are all changes for the better, but needless to say, I've been a little stressed.

But spending time with a real living, breathing patient today put it all back into perspective. A knee replacement. He busted his knee when he was my age, and it forever changed his life. The first time he went to rehab and was able to walk up the stairs, he cried. It was the first time he'd walked up stairs in 20+ years. His goal is to make it to Bike Week in Daytona on his Harley in March. This is why I'm becoming a therapist.

The reality is that, just like with clients in advertising, I'll always have patients who don't want to listen to me. Who aren't really interested in or impressed with my amount of knowledge. They don't really care to get better. And that's going to be frustrating for me. I'll care more than they will. But it's the ones who are motivated that will make it a worthwhile career.

I think it would be really cool to make every patient set a goal of one activity they want to do when they complete rehab, and then to make it happen for them. Like, if one patient wanted to be able to go skydiving, I would take them skydiving when they completed their program. Having something to look forward to is what keeps people going, and I would love to partner with my patients to make that goal happen.

Which was why today was so important. Looking forward to the impact I can have on a patient's life—enabling them to do something they haven't done in years, like walking up stairs—makes going back to school seem bearable.

On a side note, I realized today that this is probably the last week that I will have free time, so tonight is movie night. :)

a real live Tennessee volunteer.

You didn't really think I'd betrayed my Bulldogs, did you? Not a chance.

No, I haven't become a UT fan. Actually, tomorrow morning, bright and early at 7, I will be volunteering (for real) at the rehab gym at one of our Life Care centers. I have no idea what I'll be doing, and it's only an hour, but I absolutely cannot wait!

I figured that to reach my goal of becoming a therapist, I needed a game plan (notice the football analogies? who doesn't love football analogies?). And that means immersing myself in a rehab environment as soon as possible. And since I have my heart set on geriatrics, Life Care seems like a great place to start.

8 hours and 54 minutes 'til kickoff!

a lot of thought.

Even though the decision to go back to school is one I've been wrestling with for a while now, I've only told a handful of people I was considering a career change. I know it may seem like I'm being impulsive and reckless, so here's the whole story:

I feel like I have been wandering through the wilderness for at least the past two years. Don't get me wrong; I love my job. In fact, it means so much to me that I've been hanging on to it for dear life, even though I knew it wasn't something I was supposed to be doing long-term. I've had a passion for health and wellness for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pediatrician. Then it switched to being a nurse. After that, I decided I would become a personal trainer and own my own gym. I actually changed my major at the end of my freshman year at MSU to exercise science, then quickly changed it back in response to all of the raised eyebrows being cast my way.

So here I am, four years into a career that I realize will never completely fulfill me. I've toyed with the idea of owning my own design business, which I halfheartedly started in order to put a name and purpose to the steady stream of freelance projects that fill my spare time. Then I remembered how much I loved exercise, so I started a boot camp with my friends on Wednesdays and vowed to get certified as a personal trainer. Then I thought, why not just become a nurse? (Not to sound like I thought it'd be easy; I know better.) That way, I'd be even more credible as a trainer, but I could also help take care of people, and I would very much love that. However, I didn't know how my weak stomach would fare.

And so I wrestled. Back and forth. Nothing seemed to fit quite right. I didn't have a peace about any of it.

Last week, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. I've been out of commission for a month with a herniated disc. To make matters worse, my husband is training out-of-town for his job, so I'm holding down the fort. But not only could I not exercise and be as active as I desperately wanted; I couldn't even take out my own trash because of my back. My independence had been robbed from me. I felt helpless, grappling with the depressing fear that I couldn't take care of myself. Gosh, this is what disabled people must feel like, I thought. How awful it is to realize that you aren't in a position to take care of yourself, even if mine was only temporary. And that's when everything seemed to make sense.

I wanted to empower others to be healthy. I've always wanted that. I want to give people their confidence back. Their independence. I wanted to leave work every day, knowing that I directly affected someone's life for the better.

Physical therapy was what I needed to be doing. It was suddenly more clear to me than anything had been in the past two years. Every major event in my life until now made sense, as if I was being pointed in this direction and didn't even know it.

Not only will I be doing something that fits my personality and fulfills a deep need in me to make a difference in the lives of others, but there are other perks as well. Those that speak deep to the core of who I am.

First of all, I am a developer. I can immediately see potential in others and want to inspire them to reach it, but I get very depressed if there's no progress. In nursing, I could do my very best, and my patient may still not get better. In fact, I may deal with a lot of death as a nurse. But in therapy, there are measurable outcomes. I can substantiate progress, which is crucial to me.

Not to mention the hours are flexible and the pay is good. It's an active job, which is what I need. I get way too fidgety sitting at a desk all day; in fact, I got a degree in journalism so I wouldn't be stuck behind a desk. And no matter where, or if, my husband's job moves us out-of-state, I will always be able to find work.

It's overwhelming, the thought of going back to school. I have nine science classes I have to take before I can enter the Doctor of Physical Therapy program at UTC, which I will apply to next fall for the fall 2010 program. I have five years of schooling ahead of me. It's scary. But at this point, it seems unnatural to even think about doing anything else.

So there it is. I have given this a lot of thought. I've done my homework. And as of today, I am officially registered for classes.

jumping right in.

It's almost midnight, and I had promised myself I'd go to bed tonight at a decent hour, so I'll cut right to the chase: I'm going back to school. Next Monday. To be a physical therapist.

I'll explain later, but my mentor had the brilliant notion that, since I'm a writer, I should create a blog to document my process of becoming a physical therapist. So here it is!

Lesson 1: Don't start a blog until you have plenty of time to design a background, select fonts and a custom color palette, and drum up something inspiring to write. But at least it's up! Sorry, folks. I'm exhausted, so I will have to officially kick this thing off tomorrow. Stay tuned, though. This is sure to be one crazy ride!

Sweet dreams,

courtney