in the last week
A Post-Operative Odyssey: My Enlightening Encounter with Physical Therapist Kishan
Me, a fragile, hobbling wretch of a women fresh from knee surgery, crumpled like a wet napkin—moaning melodramatically about how I'll never dance again, ride with my huskies again, sit squat again( well still can’t do that YET! ) clutching crutches like they were relics from the Crusades. Then enters Dr Kishan the veritable high priestess of physical rehabilitation, the Bodhisattva of biomechanics.
Now let me be candid—it was torture. Not the medieval kind with racks and hot pokers, but the modern, sneaky sort where your soul is torn between gratitude and the raw, searing burn of a well-executed lunge. Each session a symphony of sweat and suppressed screams. But, as Kishan reminded me—sternly, with the wisdom of a Zen master and the voice of a drill sergeant—“No pain, no gain.”
And by the gods, she was right.
Under his guidance, what began as agony turned into alchemy. The knee, once stubborn as a disgruntled mule, began to bend, to bear weight, to believe. He stretched me, encouraged me, occasionally ignored my Oscar-worthy whimpering—but always with a purpose. His touch is clinical yet kind, his knowledge encyclopaedic, and his patience? That of a saint dealing with a theatrical child.
Kishan doesn't just fix your knee—he resurrects it. Nay, reinvents it. I arrived a broken bard; I left a limber gazelle.
In summary: If you want your recovery sugarcoated and cuddly, go find a spa. But if you're ready to walk the path of righteous rehabilitation—with grit, grace, and a bit of glorious torture—Kishan is your guru. I now kneel (yes, kneel) in thanks.
Both Joanne and Joel a divine force wrapped in warmth and wisdom. With hands that heal and words that soothe, both pushed me gently through the agony, their encouragement a balm on my existential moans. They moved like a benevolent sorceress of sinew, coaxing miracles from my stubborn joints
Might I also add Top notch Front desk staff too.
