Forty Dollars a visit. That is what it costs me to obtain “physical therapy”. The only thing missing from this “therapy” is a star chamber and the torches because for all of the semantics these visits are “voluntary torture.” Everyone there is very sweet and appropriately genteel but the reality is yesterday I saw one of the physical therapist enjoying the torture. This is what happened. The “patient” or what I call “victim” was laying on the table face down. Now this position is extremely vulnerable in a Ned Beatty sort of way so I thought I should watch the “therapist” ie “enforcer.” The enforcer placed her 5′ foot body on the victims leg and began pushing her leg toward her buttocks. This so called therapy was intended to “stretch it out.” The “it” was something I could not ascertain but what I did see was the “therapist” check to see if the “patient” was looking back at her.  Finding the “patient” face down in the pillow wincing in pain, the “therapist” craned her neck back in an almost rapturous stretch look into the mirror and say to herself “nice, nice hurt so good.” Shivers ran down my spine because I was next. The “patient” whimpered a little bit and the “therapist” said “are you ok?” knowing full well that the “patient” could not answer because she was face down in the pillow screaming her lungs out. I also think I saw the “therapist” hold this poor defenseless 85 year old lady’s head into the pillow while she added another “good stretch.” The scary part of all of his is the normalcy and sanitized feeling the “therapy” room has. I am telling you in a different era or with different outfits these “therapists” could be placed in any medieval dungeon or an interrogation roon in Guatanomo.  I am sitting there thinking, “am I the only one who realizes that these ‘therapists’ are sadistic masocists employed by the health care profession for the sole purpose of extending pain and suffering so that the health care executives can count the co-pays on a daily basis.” I imagine the “therapists” at the end of the day sitting around the credit card receipts wringing their hands eating favre beans and drinking chianti.  They tell stories of people who they get to do the most ridiculous activities in the name of “therapy” but in reality the “therapists” joke about how simple minded and lemming like the “patients” are all knowing that none of this “therapy” works or has medicinal value whatsoever. All of this occurs after hours in their khaki pants and tennis shoes. All of this for a $40.00 co-pay, the never ending co-pay. Ironically there is a sign at this location that states “If it hurts don’t do it.” I think there is another sign in the back office that says, “Patients can’t be trusted.” AH