As a job skill.

Thankful today for ruthless physical therapists.

You wouldn’t think of ruthlessness as a job skill.  Maybe in a mogul, but not in a healthcare profession.  Generally speaking, you think of caring and caretaking and concern.

I suppose those are still the top skills in healthcare.  Bedside manner.  It’s important.

And I don’t want to imply that my physical therapists are lacking in any of that.  They are careful and concerned and very friendly and sympathetic.

And ruthless.

And that is a good thing.

See, you may remember, that I have this frozen shoulder thing going on.  (Yes, it hurts.  And, yes, I feel old.  And yes, it is slightly better now, thank you.)

I’ve been going to PT for weeks.  There are pulleys and Thera-bands and weights and lengths of PVC pipe and timers and doorways for isometrics and infrared heat and lots of ice in my life.  Twice a week for some of the elaborate gadgets—when I go in to the office—and twice a day for the stuff I can do at home.

In addition to all that, there always comes a time in my therapy session when one of the therapists comes along to “pull on me.”  I lie on a table, and he or she takes hold of my arm and gently manipulates it in various directions.

Almost all of them are painful.  Some of them seriously so.

I try not to whimper too much.  (Who are we kidding?  I try not to scream.)

The therapists are good, though.  They watch my face.  They notice when, instinctively, I tense my arm in a protective resistance.

Now, me, that’s the point where I would stop—if I were working on someone.  I don’t think I have the fortitude to intentionally inflict that kind of pain.

They, on the other hand, hang in there.  Another few seconds.  Another millimeter.  Another involuntary gasp.

They’re working for tiny increases in range of motion.

They’re getting them, too.

Ruthlessness.

It may be underrated.