The Monster Hickey

So last night I went to my physical therapy appointment, and my PT dude put some new moves on me.

While he was working on my shoulder, he manipulated a few vertebrae that ended up significantly reducing some tension in my arm. I had no idea it had gotten mixed up in this mess, too.

At one point, he walked away, but came back a minute later with something I never would’ve expected: a small toilet plunger.

He explained that it worked wonders at suctioning onto the skin, which would let him pull, tug and really loosen things up.


He lubed up the plunger edge with some massage cream and stuck me with it. And when I say “stuck,” I mean it. That thing wasn’t coming off.

I’ve never disliked anyone more in my life; I pictured my flesh being stretched and pulled away from my person by a good two feet or so. Then it dawned on me that all the suction would likely give a girl something that’s close to one of the least attractive things in the world: a giant hickey.

I asked PT dude about the possibility if such a thing happening. “Oh yeah,” he said. “People with lighter complexions normally will see something the next day.”

Have I mentioned that I spent my entire winter indoors?

I successfully put myself to bed early last night, but woke up around 4:30 in quite a bit of pain. It took me a moment or two to realize the pain was radiating from my arm. I snoozed for another hour as best I could, then finally got up.

Right before stepping into the shower, I saw it: a massive bruise in the shape of a perfect circle on my upper arm, just below my shoulder. Hmpf.

Today, while sore, I am thankful my arm is still attached, that my flesh did not tear, and that I get to live another day — which is just long enough to make it back there for my next appointment and whack my PT guy over the head with his plunger. Silly boy.

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