I Failed a DUI Test in Front of My Hot Therapist

But I learned a valuable skill while tapping my nose

A re-enactment of me getting crunk-tested at my physiotherapy appointment.

Like any good masochist, I’ve been going to physiotherapy. And like many people, I only vaguely knew what it was before I started. I thought it would be some relaxing massages followed by a gingerly drag over some squidgy foam rollers.

As I’ve learned, however, physiotherapy is a godsent for healing — performed by a reincarnation of the Marquis de Sade. ‘Fun’ fact, the word sadism was coined in honor of the Marquis’ malicious acts.

My physio appointments are split into two, so technically I have two physiotherapists. The first one we’ll call Kathy Bates — because she loves to inflict Misery. This human incantation of Beelzebub applies CIA black site techniques to torture me. She begins each grueling appointment by asking ‘Where does it hurt most?’. Then she takes a hot poker (probably) and continually jabs the ouchie spot for about 15 minutes.

The ‘ouchie spot’ location varies depending on the visit, as does my fear and loathing for Kathy. I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, or as I call it ‘bendy bitch disorder’, a mixed connective tissue disorder that makes my collagen defective. Amongst other things, it makes my skin, tendons, and ligaments looser than a bucket of fishing worms.

If I was a superhero I’d be Elastigirl

With my stretchiness, I have a lot of issues.

While that’s true broadly, from the physio perspective I didn’t have one issue to work on I had a nearly endless list. It was the physiotherapy equivalent of running into an ER, throwing a bag of bones at the doctor, and yelling ‘Fix my grandma!’

Since my extremities flap like a barn door in a hurricane, I regularly injure things. My body can extend beyond the normal range of motion, so I’ve also been piling up repetitive injuries for so long that I’m pretty sure I’m going to put Kathy’s kids through college.

It works though. After the agonizing pain subsides in a few days, I don’t hurt as much.

After Kathy, I see my activities therapist — a 6'4 brick-shithouse of a man who’s built like a god-damned Viking. My physio god, Thor, channels Valhalla to do things like rebuild my lost muscle tone and improve my balance so I don’t walk into walls or fall over like a drunk toddler (again).

During one of my last sessions, Thor told me we were going to work on ‘proprioception’.

I said, “Coo, coo — but uh, what’s that?”

Proprioception is in the realm of kinesthesia. It’s a ‘sixth sense’ generated by the mechanosensory neurons in muscles, tendons, and joints. It helps your body determine its place in space through self-movement, force, and body position. It’s how you interact with your surrounding physical environment.

“It is the ability to sense where any part of the body is positioned at any particular time without looking in a mirror or observing,” explains Occupational Health & Safety.

Or at least that’s how it works for most people. Bendy bitches like me have problems with our poopooception (my PT didn’t find this joke as funny as I did), making us about as graceful as Wreck-It Ralph.

Proprioception-increasing exercises are used by elite athletes, high-level musicians, and elasticus erectus’ like me who go to physio apparently. They are also used by those working with aging populations — since these fine motor skills naturally wane as we age. You might be losing yours already and not know it.

Thor wanted to get my baseline level of proprioception and had me perform some basic tests. (If you’re curious how your proprioception is doing, play along here.)

I didn’t know it at the time, but he was essentially performing a field sobriety test. He was about to give me a DUI test, therapeutically…probably. That or it was for his entertainment, and I have to admit, now that I’ve done this with multiple friends — it is pretty darn entertaining.

If you’ve watched episodes of COPS before, you probably know the first one. Spread your arms out like a drunken pterodactyl, then point the tip of your finger to your nose. Repeat it, but with your eyes closed. Thor made me do it again but with my thumb and that really threw me for a loop.

• One-leg standing balance test — for the next one, I spread my feet hip-width apart, put my hands on my hips, and lifted one foot for 30 seconds, then repeated with the other. The more you weeble-wobble the worse your proprioception is. I was swaying like a sorority girl on Spring Break.

• One-leg three-way kick — Thor then had me use the same hip-width position, then one leg at a time bringing the foot forward about one foot, then back to center. Then repeat it outward one foot, then backward a foot. I failed this test with the grace of a drunken flamingo.

• Tightrope walk — Next, my Viking Adonis put a 6-foot line of tape on the floor and went full DUI-test on me. I had to walk the tape plank like a naughty pirate. With one foot directly in front of the other, I walked it once with my arms up and then with my arms down. I made a joke to cover the awkward silence, “I thought they at least blindfolded you when they made you walk the plank”.

Thor laughed at my plank joke (expert tip: physios like humer-ous jokes) because that’s exactly what he had me do next. Repeat all the exercises but with my eyes closed. They were all significantly harder without the usual visual input of where your body is in space.

What came next, as I closed my eyes can only be described as me performing a one-woman Bambi-esque rendition of drunken Ice Capades. I nearly fell over like a drunk toddler who can’t handle their booze.

What sort of physio sorcery was this shenanigans?

I’m no longer confident that I could pass a DUI test, even sober.

Thankfully Thor said I wasn’t the worst he’d seen, and I appreciated the fact that his pretty mouth lied to me even though I could tell he was impressed with my colossal lack of dexterity. He also said I’d get better with practice. And I have. I actually did my exercises at home this time, because as I’ve learned — lying to your physiotherapist is about as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle.

This isn’t one of the exercises, just me showing off my bendiness in a pose that my physiotherapist begged me to stop doing.

If you’re wondering why you’d pay for physio and then not do the exercises, it’s common. They’re a pain in the arse and it feels like you have to do them 87 times a day. They’re not only numerous but have the added benefit of being as much as waterboarding yourself. I’m not alone in not always doing the physio homework though, studies find that up to 75% of people don’t make it two weeks.

Do your physio.

That wasn’t me telling you to do it, that was me reminding myself.

Again.

The more I perform the exercises, especially with my eyes closed, the more comfortable I feel in my environment. I still don’t have Beckham-like footwork, and I can’t outperform a Papillion or poodle in the weave polls — but I feel less bumbling than before, and much more grounded.

I haven’t walked into a wall in a week, which is a new record for me.

My 72-year-old mother, who I immediately performed the tests on after leaving physio, has also improved her kinesthesia. Hopefully, it will help stave off injury as she ages, and prevent further injury to myself as I continue to bend it like Beckham.

If you re-enacted the drunk test above and flailed with flying colors too — keep practicing. Ask your aging Mother or Father to do it with you, since proprioceptive abilities decline with age and increase not only the risk of falls but also how much damage they do.

The improved coordination these exercises bring may just keep them from having a nasty fall and breaking a hip in their later years as their kinesthetic coordination fades.

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Now, I’m off to go drive around until I hit a DUI checkpoint so I can impress the drunk-busting officers with my fancy new skills.

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Do you want to support me but those $5+ per month subscriptions add up? Fair. 

I’d absolutely love your support at any level that’s comfortable for you…

$1 per month (would picking the lowest option make you cheap? Nope, I’d love you)

$2 per month (equal love here)

$3 per month (ditto)

$4 per month (you rebel)

$5 per month (full price because I’d be dumb not to include it)

Don’t have any money? Don’t worry, me neither, and I still love you. I have to ask because a friend pointed out that I haven’t yet, and expensive physio has eaten into my unicorn savings fund.