It was there that I spent 3 years as a young, unmotivated, self-assured therapist making jokes and talking sports in a room filled with people with (mostly) acute injuries. I only knew a little about therapy then, but I knew that little bit very well. It was a small clinic, and we tried to make every patient feel like they were part of an extended family. The rule was this: every patient is touched for at least 5 minutes.
This week, I will make my pilgrimage back (as I have done every 4 months) to visit old friends. I will be in the clinic, again, looking around and imagining how I would do things different.
One year after I left, I returned silently indignant as they could not differentiate a posterior derangement from an anterior dysfunction or understand the role of the anteriorly tilted, forward-rotated left hemi-pelvis on their patients posture. I realized I had left right on time.
This week I will happily return, as I always do, to embrace my closest of friends (my old office manager), talk sports and fantasy football with one co-owner and growing families with the other. I will remain, mostly, in the office. I will poke my head out, however, into the treatment area.
Less indignant than 2 years earlier, I will smile when they place their hands on every patient: without a single thrust.