Enough time passed and our new life began to feel normal.
I loved the children I worked with but felt it was time to use my hands again.
Six-year-old Kevin affirmed this when he took me on a journey back to the intimacy and intrigue of “hands-on” therapy.
He was an unusual referral in the school setting.
Children in this setting are required to demonstrate a developmental disability which impacts their ability to fully integrate their educational experience.
Kevin did not have a developmental disability. He was developmentally on target for his age and grade level. He was referred for an evaluation and trial treatment period as he was continually tripping on his right foot.
This was impacting his ability to fully participate in P.E. class, recess and playground activities, and keeping up with classmates in the hallway. He was constantly pre-occupied with his right foot and his teachers feared he might fall and injure himself.
His parents had him evaluated by a multitude of specialists with no apparent findings. They were frustrated and concerned. They advocated for physical therapy in the school setting as they did not know what else to do.
My evaluation yielded nothing but some tightness and weakness in his right foot.
I thought it would not hurt to do a little manual therapy to “loosen” his ankle and foot.
I asked him to lie on the mat I placed on the floor and began with a gentle “leg pull.”
His leg began “unwinding.”
I followed as his leg led his body into a graceful dance of spirals, stopping when his body paused and following when the dance continued.
His eyes closed and I could see REM movement under his eyelids.
I asked him what he was feeling.
“I am in a big ship with a Barney head.”
“The ship is sinking and I don’t have any swimmies.”
“My foot is stuck in a plank.”
“Water is rushing toward me and I can’t breathe.”
I see him pulling at his right leg and ask him if he needs help.
He nods and I place my hands on his right leg.
I can see he is becoming increasingly anxious.
I tell him we will count to three and pull his leg together.
“One…Two…Three…”
We pull together and he takes a big breath.
I wait because I am not sure what else to do.
He gives me a big smile and stands up.
“Can we play a game now?”
I say sure and we move on to a game before returning to class.
The next week I received a phone call from Kevin’s Mom and a beautiful card with flowers followed.
Kevin was not limping or tripping over his right foot any longer.
His preoccupation with his leg just stopped.
It was as if the issue never happened.
Kevin was discharged with a home exercise program to strengthen his foot and he never showed up on my list again.
I saw him in the hallways occasionally where I received a huge smile and wave but that was the end of the story.
He had no idea that he gifted me with the curiosity and drive to return to the adventure of manual therapy.
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