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Lost in Suburbia: A super dog day afternoon

Tracy Beckerman More Content Now
Posted: Apr. 24, 2019 8:43 am

Being the deep, substantial person that I am, I was kind of hoping that following my knee replacement surgery, my at-home physical therapist would resemble someone like Jason Momoa. Unfortunately, it seemed all the buff therapists had already been assigned, because I ended up with one who looked more like Antman than Aquaman.

Still, I didn’t want to him to feel like I didn’t respect his special skill set, so I asked him what his superpower was.

“I will help you get your leg straight,” he replied.

I sighed. I had been hoping for something more like, “I can manipulate time to save the world from a mutant alien arachnid species,” but I thought getting my leg straight would be good, too.

In most superhero movies, there is often a villain whom the superhero must thwart to save humanity. But in my house, the only one who really fit that role was the dog. Ever since I had returned home from the hospital, I had noticed that the dog would lie across the floor or leave a toy exactly in my path, setting up a treacherous obstacle for a woman with only one good leg. Although I don’t think it was his intention to hurt me, the net result would have been the same, and thus I dubbed the villainous dog, “He-who-shall-not-be-tripped-over.”

The physical therapist, who I’ll call Therapyman (because all superheroes should have “man” or “woman” in their name and, also, I’m not very creative when it comes to naming superheroes), realized right away that the dog would be our nemesis. It might have had something to do with the fact that Therapyman, himself, tripped over the dog on his way into my house. This is also when we realized that Therapyman could fly … but only short distances and was not very good at sticking the landing.

Now, I’ve had interactions with superheroes in the past, so all this was nothing new to me. For many years, my husband went by the pseudonym, “Super Grillman.” He transformed into his alias when the burgers came out and would go off to fight his barbeque battles with his galactic grill tools that he kept in a titanium grill case. He didn’t so much save the world from the burgers as he did save the burgers themselves from being well done. But he was proud of his achievements and who was I, a mere mortal to question his status.

This would be a good time to admit that the hospital had sent me home with super pain medication for the first week, and it was making me a little loopy. This may be the reason I called my physical therapist, Therapyman, to his face. I introduced myself as Super Knee Woman (again, not very creative, but I was on meds, so I get a pass) who could leap off my bed on one leg in a single bound. When he tested my other skills, however, I failed with flying colors, which I attributed to the fact that I believed his PT bag contained Kryptonite and therefore, I was rendered practically mortal.

Therapyman was super kind, though, and assured me that it was normal to lose your superpowers after a big surgery and I would be back to saving the world, or at least able to get to the toilet by myself, in no time.

As Therapyman began to run me through a series of exercises, both of us neglected to see the villainous dog, “He-who-shall-not-be-tripped-over,” lying down in the hall, directly in my path. I was teetering precariously and my cane was just about to come in contact with the dog’s tail when Therapyman flew into action, dashed across the hall at superspeed, and with superhuman strength, lobbed my 90-pound dog across the hall like hockey puck.

This is when I realized that the physical therapist’s true superpower name was, “He-who-moves-the-dog-out-of-my-way.”
For more Lost in Suburbia, Follow Tracy on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage and Twitter @TracyBeckerman.

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