I showed up thinking I’d get the usual pep talk, a few stretches, maybe some ultrasound. But my therapist had other plans. He rolled in with a thing. Not just any thing—this metallic, spring-loaded contraption straight out of a science fiction movie... or an underground S&M catalog.
"Don’t worry," he said with a straight face. "It’s just a hand splint."
Right. Just a hand splint.
Let me describe this beauty: straps, springs, metal bars, adjustable knobs. Basically, it looked like someone raided the toolbox, threw in a towel for comfort, and decided, “Let’s rehab like it’s 2099!”
At first, I froze. Was this a joke? A medieval torture device? Was I about to confess secrets I didn’t even know I had?
But then something magical happened—we laughed. A lot.
There I was, lying back like a cyborg-in-training, fingers curled into position, while the therapist adjusted the contraption with the focus of a NASA engineer. It was absurd. It was brilliant. It was therapy with flair.
And surprisingly, it helped. I could feel the stretch, the engagement, the science behind the madness. It was working—just not without a little drama and a whole lot of humor.
So next time you see me, don’t be surprised if I casually mention my stint as a part-time Transformer. Just know that behind the metal, the knobs, and the laughter, healing is happening—one click at a time.
P.S. No safe words were required during this session… but maybe next time I’ll come prepared. 😜