Tales of Grimm

July 16, 2013

She could have been Gretel in the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Blond braids pulled back to reveal her diamond-shaped face, sweet pink lips, staggering blue eyes and demure demeanor to boot. Until Michael called her over and requested she be an observer during my physical therapy, claiming she was interested in becoming a PT herself, introducing her as Maggie, Peggy, Beth, anything but believable Gretel, she had loitering in the corner. She is from Madison so we had a lot to talk about. Actually, when I think about it, she was cunningly keeping me from noticing Hansel who must have been hiding from Grandma.

A round-faced interpreter bobbed and weaved in his starched white shirt and baggy pants. The patient, a man with a colorful patterned scarf around his head had visible difficulty sitting, then rising from the padded benches. I was surprised to note that the PT working with the elder did not bend to assist. Neither did the interpreter, not to mention the son who must have been chauffeuring his ailing father. The boy/man sat, digging for gold in each nostril, not seeming to realize it is not socially acceptable for anyone over the age of four, to pick his nose in the middle of a busy gym. Caused me to ask the physical therapist how many languages he speaks, believing it must be a pre-requisite to working in a growing populous of international patients in the Twin Cities. Just one, he smirked. He never studied another idiom in High School and didn’t take the time in college to pursue languages. Shocking.

I only find out just how well Michael thinks my foot is doing because he has an audience. He assures me we could have another nine sessions, perhaps less, depending upon how well the next month goes. I fail to mention I have been running amok and taking my foot places he could never imagine. I simply keep the secrets safe and smirk like an evil jack-o-lantern. Can’t help myself around Gretel.