She’s my Physical Therapist and she loves dispensing pain, disguised
as therapy, of course. And she’s good at her job!
You’re immediately intimidated when you walk in the offices of CORA.
All the men therapists are shaped like the letter “V” and the women
all look like models. I guess this is what we should aspire to attain.
I love the huge sign the Queen of Torture has hanging on one of the
walls of her torture chamber. It’s titled the Ten Nevers of Sports
Medicine. Rule number one: Never say you can’t because you’ll do it
Rule number two: Never say “It’s easy.” We’ll just make it harder.
Rule number three: Never say “I want to go home.” We’ll just make you
Rule number four: Never lose count because we’ll make you start over
again. Rule number five: Never complain because we never listen. Rule
number six: Never argue because you’ll never win.
Rule number seven: Never scream or cry because it only encourages us.
Rule number eight: Never look like you’re enjoying it because we’ll
put a stop to it.
Rule number nine: Never hold your breath because if you pass out and
die, we have to fill out a lot of paperwork.
And finally, Rule number ten: Never lie or cheat because we know the
truth and you’ll live to regret it.
Makes you yearn to go into physical therapy. This is the penalty I’ve
been bequeathed for getting rear-ended on the main drag in Kissimmee,
FL. With no feeling in my hands and a constant pain in the neck from
the whiplash, I now get to put up with this non-sense three days a
And along comes Carolina, the Queen of Torture. Among her many methods
of torture is what I call the neck-stretcher. You lay on your back
with your neck cradled in a vice, for the lack of a better
description. Then the Queen of Torture tightens the vice and wraps a
strap around your head so you can’t move.
Then the torture begins. For the next ten minutes she stretches your
neck, supposedly to take the pressure off the “jelly donut discs” in
my neck that got squished in the whiplash (my lay terms for all the
medical gobblygoop). Don’t laugh because Tiger Woods has the same
issue. His donut is leaking too.
When I get home each day, I measure myself to see if I’m getting any
taller. The neck-stretching-thing ain’t working.
Mind you, not only do you get to suffer the pain of this you get to
listen to songs blasting away on the intercom with lyrics like “It’s
alright once you get past the pain.” Ha! Ha! Not!
And if that’s not enough to irritate you, you get to look at sports
banners for teams like Florida State Seminoles, Miami Hurricanes, the
University of Central Florida Golden Knights, the Florida Gators and
the Orlando Magic. My South Carolina Gamecocks ought to be up there.
After all, we cleaned Florida and UCF’s clock last year, finishing
fifth in the nation in football. Just looking at the Orlando Magic
banner is enough to make you want to quit.
A judge was rendering an opinion about a child who was taken from his
home because of domestic violence in the family.
The Judge asked the child, “Do you want to live with your mom?” The
kid responded, “No, she beats me.” Do you want to live with your dad?”
Again, the kid responded, “No he beats me.” Well, asked the Judge,
“Who do you want to live with?” I’d like to live with the Orlando
Magic. They can’t beat anybody.”
The crowning conclusion to my 7:00 a.m. therapy appointment is the
shock therapy that I endure at the very end. It’s called
Interferential Current Therapy (IFC). Supposedly it is a noninvasive
therapy indicated for the symptomatic relief from, and management of,
chronic intractable pain and post-surgical and post-trauma acute pain.
In lay language they hook you up to a booster cable and run
electricity through you. It actually feels pretty good; it just sounds
So I guess you could say Carolina is my new “she-ro” because she’s
healing me… slowly, painfully, but surely!
* * * * *
Michael Aun is a syndicated columnist and writes a weekly column for
this newspaper. To contact Michael Aun, email him at