The $6 Man

The doctor recently diagnosed me as having tendonitis in my left wrist, which certainly explains why it has been rather sore lately and I've had to wear a brace for support. As a result, I am back visiting one of my "favorite" places on a regular basis: SportsMed physical therapy.

Fortunately, my physical therapist, Dave Osteyee, really knows his stuff and has been giving me exercises and treatment that have really made the wrist feel much better over the past couple of weeks. At my last appointment, he fitted me with the (pictured) wrist device that attaches to a battery and sends electrical currents into the area, speeding the flow of blood and, thus, healing.

Upon leaving the office, I felt like the $6 Man.

Day 285: Jackson Pumps Up

If I've failed to mention this already, a frequent visitor to my room each day is my four-year-old nephew Jackson.

The other day, he picked up my weights (which I use for physical therapy exercises at home) and proceeded to show off his muscles. There's never a dull moment with him around.

Day 262: The False Gods We Worship

When I go to my physical therapy appointments, I usually pick up a magazine or two to read while I'm either (1) waiting for the heat to do its thing before I exercise or (2) waiting for the ice and e-stem to do its stuff after exercising. Quite often, it's a People magazine. After all, I have to constantly be doing my homework for Improv and finding out who is up to what.

Whenever I do so, I am left with only this thought: It never ceases to amaze me how obsessed our culture is with celebrities who are very poor role models.

It's Electric!

For most of the afternoon, I've been thinking about electricity.

I began pondering on the matter at another session of physical therapy - a place I just can't seem to stay away from, for one reason or another - when I was hooked up to an eStem machine, as is often the case when I am there for my appointments.

eStem, for those not familiar with it, is the thing that makes going to physical therapy completely worthwhile. It comes once you've finished biking and lifting weights and doing push-ups and stretching and sweating and grunting and groaning, much like the pumpkin cheesecake dessert after a meal filled with broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and carrot juice (it's good for you, but it doesn't taste too pleasant while you're ingesting it). Electrical pads are attached to your sore spot(s), sending warming electrical vibes and causing increased blood flow, which aids and enhances the process of healing.

Today, in fact, I broke a new personal record on the eStem machine, taking in electricity at the highest possible setting the machine could reach. For 20 minutes per session, you get to sit like this, reading a magazine or (mainly) relaxing, letting the electricity do its thing.

On my way home, though the eStem had been disconnected, the electricity still felt like it was pulsing through me for an additional half-hour. I felt a bit like the Six-Million Dollar Man, or Thor, or at least a toad when it gets struck by lightning.

My pondering evolved into this: The Atonement is a lot like the soothing electricity from an eStem machine. It often doesn't take full effect on us until after we've been through a certain degree of suffering, be it spiritual, physical, mental, or otherwise. But it heals us and remains with us. And, yes, we have to keep going back to it to continue to benefit from it.

Or, as a famous person once said: I don't fully understand God, and I don't fully understand electricity, but I refuse to sit in the dark.

Shout Out to the Veterans

It's Veterans Day - arguably one of the most underappreciated holidays on the calendar - today. All day long!

When I think of the many veterans who fought for our country, I think of my neighbor Frank Whittaker. Frank is someone I've spoken to only a few times over the course of many years of being his neighbor, mainly through accompanying my dad on home teaching visits. He participated in and lived to tell about the Battle of Iwo Jima, fought on the small Pacific island over the course of five grueling weeks in February and March of 1945 - some of the fiercest fighting of World War II.

I think of "Colonel Jack," as he is called by everyone who knows him, whom I met through a variety of circumstances in the summer of 2008. A handful of friends and I spotted him playing his trumpet, which he said he does each week to honor his fallen comrades, on Bountiful Boulevard as we arrived at the mouth of the canyon for a ward hike. A couple of weeks later, one of our leaders invited him to speak to us at an FHE activity, during which he told us about his many combat missions flown during WWII and Korea.

Additionally, I think of a man whose name I did not learn but who stopped to speak with me for 10 or 15 minutes earlier this year while I was at a physical therapy session. He was there with his wife, who was rehabbing an injury, and I noticed the "Proud Veteran of the Korean War" hat he was wearing - how could anyone miss it? I mentioned to him that my brother served his mission in South Korea and that it was probably due to the service of American and Allied forces in the war that Korea was even opened to missionary work in the 1950s, and I also thanked him for his service. Veterans, I have learned, do appreciate being thanked for their many selfless sacrifices.

Does this contradict my previous post, when I wrote that "wars not make one great"? Not necessarily! Wars made these three (and many others) great indeed.

If you feel so inclined, feel free to thank one or more veterans today. I'm certain they will appreciate it.

"Of More Value Than Many Sparrows"

Yesterday afternoon, as I went outside to get in my car and head off to a session of physical therapy, I was nearly hit in the head by a wounded bird. I heard a loud thunk! noise, as it collided with something wooden, and then I watched as it fell down to the ground in front of me. It hobbled around, flapping its wings (one of which now looked in terrible shape), trying in vain to get back up into the air and resume its life of . . . whatever it is that birds do.


My first reaction was to double-check and ensure that I had remembered to use deodorant - if you catch my drift. But, as I was already running late for my appointment, I thought no more of the bird and sped off to my intended destination.

Yes, I'm in physical therapy once more. After spending months rehabbing my right shoulder last year following a subacromial decompression surgery, I am back. My physical therapist now says that I have bursitis in my right tensor fasciae latae muscle. (It's in the thigh, just below the hip. Don't worry if you haven't heard of it before; two months ago, I had no idea what it was called, either.)


When you're at physical therapy, you have a lot of time to think. First, you have to sit with a hot pad on the injured area/muscle for 15 minutes. That is followed by five minutes of ultrasound on the affected area. Then, you do your exercises and stretches, which usually take about an hour, and, even while you're grunting and straining through those, you have more time to think. The session often ends with 20 minutes of ice and e-stem electric therapy applied to your sore spot, which is my favorite part and what I consider to be the payoff for all of the hard work you have to do.

While I lay there with the heat pad on, the image of that poor, injured bird flopping around popped back into my head. I suddenly wished I had done something - I don't know what - to try to take care of it, instead of leaving it there like I did. Then, I got to thinking about the well-known scripture in Matthew:

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.

But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
-Matthew 10:29-31

You don't have to be a genius to figure out the symbolism of my encounter with the injured bird, which explains how *I* was able to figure it out.

Here I was, surrounded by people with physical ailments of all kinds - shoulder pain, neck pain, wrist pain, knee pain, you name it - and, like the bird, all they wanted to do was to get flying again and get back to whatever it is that people do. And, with that thought, I gained a newfound respect and appreciation for the things that physical therapists do.

Further, I also got to thinking about family and close friends who are living through some painful experiences - of one kind or another - right now, including: depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, loneliness, unemployment, separation from a spouse, excommunication from the Church, and the death of a loved one. They, too, are in the loving hands of the Master Healer, and He will see them through.

Was I thinking too much at physical therapy yesterday? Maybe.

Please allow me to add one more thought and conclude this post with mentioning something about J.K. "Jo" Rowling, who many of you know is the author of the seven Harry Potter books. This past week, I did some research on her and wrote up a small biography for my ongoing work project of writing reading passages. Something interesting that I learned about Jo is of the struggle she had to go through just to get that first Harry Potter book on the shelf, and it is a story that gave me a lot of newfound respect for this woman.


From having the initial idea until publication, it took J.K. Rowling seven years to get Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone into bookstores. That was a tumultuous seven-year period in her life that included the death of her mother, a marriage and a divorce, raising a child as a single parent, and a bout with severe depression. In fact, the Dementors in the Harry Potter books represent her experiences in dealing with depression. No wonder that it is the love that Harry's parents have for him that often sees him through those dark times.

She was flat broke when she wrote the book, and she had to type it up on an old typewriter in public cafes in Edinburgh, Scotland. But, she persisted, and she got it done. The rest, as they say, is history.