The Glute Evolution or Does Anyone Know What Day It Is?

April has been so busy and so much has not yet been documented. This blog comes to you in several parts. First, let’s back up.

ExoSym Costs

My ExoSyms were paid off in February. For two Exos with two knee sections, the grand total was  $21,408.00 USD. All the patient’s responsibility (no insurance), we were told. We paid half up front ($10,704). This half was for one Exo and one knee section, two separate accounts (though I didn’t realize that at the time). 

At the clinic, when we handed over the first half, we (read: my dad) asked if the clinic would bill insurance for the knee sections, just to see. They did, and our insurance did cover those. So the portion of our half-up-front payment that was meant for one knee section was applied to the second Exo.   

We opted for the nine-month “in-house payment plan” to pay the rest in installments. There is nothing official about the in-house payment plan, however, so I still received a general Hanger Clinic bill for the remaining amount with no mention of installments. The bill itself was very confusing to me, as it was only for the two Exos ($18,000), and stated that we’d paid $9,000, with no explanation regarding the knee sections (because of the different accounts, see?). Later, I tried to match up my insurance statement with my Hanger bill and make various seemingly random figures have meaning. The bottom line is, rather than paying another $10,704 over nine months, I paid $7,842. And by “I paid,” I mean that my parents then insisted on reimbursing me. Thank you, parents.

I am vaccinated!

As someone who works in education, I received my first dose of the COVID-19 vaccine on February 19th. My second was March 19th. I had the Moderna, and did not have any reaction other than a very sore arm. While I waited for the dreaded chills, etc. that did not come, I began to wonder whether my immune system is terrible or whether the vaccine was faulty. It turns out that a large portion of the population doesn’t have a strong reaction and everything is most likely fine.

ExoSym Practice 

I have put on my Exosyms and completed a short practice session outside with back brace and poles every day since March 18th. That’s 44 consecutive days counting today. I am both proud of that and surprised by it.  Some days feel good, and some days are harder. Usually, I need to recover from making it from my front door out to the sidewalk. That sounds silly, but there’s a section of incline in our path, and inclines are really hard with no ankle flexion. Some days, I can reach the sidewalk and keep walking. Do my three up-and-backs. I like to stop in between though, check my posture (using my shadow since I don’t have a mirror), do a moment of mountain pose, practice standing without weight on my poles. Some days it’s a chore, and some days it’s an exercise in curiosity. Can I feel my glutes today? Is my pelvis under me? Am I able to speed up? Reduce the strain on my forearms? Does it feel better if I try it this way or that?

April 5th

One morning my usual stretch of sidewalk was not available, so I went out to the bike path instead. In the early days, I walked this bike path toward my PT office, with the goal of eventually being able to make it all the way there and then do PT in the Exos. (Ha!) It has been many months since I’ve worn Exos on this path. The bumpy blacktop undulates up and over tree roots. Navigating such an uneven surface creates a “wobbly colt” response in me. I think it’s the lack of ankle flexion again, and the unpredictability. My body just doesn’t know what it’s doing anymore. I have been feeling so much stronger that I didn’t expect that wobbly feeling again, but there it was. It wasn’t as bad as before, but I was still a little surprised and disappointed. Not much I can do about it, though. Except keep practicing, of course. 

It’s hard to tell, but the bike path on the right is a lot bumpier than the sidewalk on the left.

Back Pain 

The reason I stopped wearing my Exos back in November was the back injury (from picking up something off the floor weirdly, Exos on) that turned into constant pain. An x-ray revealed mild arthritis, but that was obviously there before. I did not feel safe walking, and I knew I couldn’t add the weight and bulk of Exos to that. Bought a back support in March and have worn it almost every waking moment since. It’s great; I actually feel supported in it, and that’s a good feeling. However. When I take it off at night, I’m in more pain than I was before I started wearing it. I was afraid to put my Exos on because they would make my back hurt more. That has turned out to be true. My physical therapist figures it’s because I’m more active and suggests ice. Great. The way I roll over in bed is not helping (rolling over for this cerebral palsian is kinda twisty and archy). I tried sleeping in the brace once. It may have helped some, but I don’t like the idea of wearing it twenty-four hours a day.

I Hiked Again

On April 10th, my husband and I went to Reinhardt Redwood Regional Park in the East Bay. It was a busy spot, but a lovely day. Cool in the shade and warm in the sun. Our path was rockier than was enjoyable for good stretches of time, but mostly flat, and we did see more redwoods. I completed one mile, from our car to another lot. Then my husband went back to the car and picked me up.

Rocky, see?
April 19th
Side by side comparison

Myofascial Release Therapy

As soon as I knew the date of my second dose, I calculated the days until full efficacy and scheduled my first-ever myofascial release session for soon after. It turns out my neighbor is a physical therapist who is certified in MFR techniques, and she’s worked with many people who have cerebral palsy. I’m choosing to believe that the fact that we’ve lived next door to each other for almost eight years and I didn’t know this until I saw a flyer confirms only that I’m an introvert and not that I’m truly anti-social.

Here’s why fascia is important, courtesy of Johns Hopkins:

Fascia is a thin casing of connective tissue that surrounds and holds every organ, blood vessel, bone, nerve fiber, and muscle in place. The tissue does more than provide internal structure; fascia has nerves that make it almost as sensitive as skin. When stressed, it tightens up.

Although fascia looks like one sheet of tissue, it’s actually made up of multiple layers with liquid in between called hyaluronan. It’s designed to stretch as you move. But there are certain things that cause fascia to thicken and become sticky. When it dries up and tightens around muscles, it can limit mobility and cause painful knots to develop.

I’m pretty sure my fascia is a thickened, dried up and/or sticky, tightened mess. 

I’ve had three sessions so far. My neighbor, A, doesn’t use any of those metal scraping tools that break capillaries. The release technique that she uses is gentle, skin-to-skin, sustained manual pressure. She’ll find a spot that’s tender and stay on it for five minutes or more. Five minutes. Any kind of stretching or trigger point work I’ve had so far has stayed on one place for 30, 60, or 90 seconds. She stays on a knot without forcing it, waiting to feel it release; the fascia and muscles tell her what to do and where to go next.

She’s worked on my hips, psoas, quads, and arms. Is it weird to lie in the semi-darkness while someone sits with you, hands not moving but simply firmly on a muscle for minutes and minutes? No. It’s rather nice. I am busy deep breathing, trying to relax and stay that way, and she is busy concentrating on the fascia.

The muscles of my lower body don’t want to relax. If pressure is applied, they tend to contract against that pressure in response (without my consent). During the session, sometimes I feel a muscle start to let go and then a spasm will sweep through. I hesitated to use the word spasm because I tend to think of those as painful, and this isn’t. But Merriam-Webster tells me that a spasm is “an involuntary muscular contraction,” and that is exactly what happens. The muscles do this: “Relax. Relax. Relaaax. Rela–CONTRACT!” It’s like they can’t handle it, can’t let themselves unclench. Like we have to trick them into thinking it’s safe to let go.

Sometimes I’m able to hold a contraction at bay. I can feel it wanting to take over against the gentle-firm pressure. It’s such an odd feeling. Sometimes I’ll try to stave it off, and just one leg will clench instead of both.

So my neighbor sits with me and my fascia and my contracting muscles, and she doesn’t force anything. She exists with me and my body in that time and that space and she accepts what is and coaxes small changes. And that is worth a lot.    

She is also very good at trying to address my specific trouble spots. I would really like to regain my full grip strength and not have so much pain in my thumb and forearm. (I’ve been attributing this to pole use, because what else?)

Last June, I went to my first hand therapy appointment and that OT massaged the underside of my forearm and taped my thumb/wrist/forearm. I didn’t feel any different and went home without expectation of any improvement. Soon after, my neck started to tingle, and my extreme neck and shoulder tension was vastly reduced, for about a week. It felt like a near-miracle. I told A this story, and she’s worked on my forearm and taped my wrist twice, with no changes. Sigh. I think my brain must just refuse to relinquish the feedback loop: “You tricked me into relaxing once, but I know your ways now and I shall not surrender! Mwah ha ha!”

Does Anyone Know What Day It Is?

During the month of April I was busy every single weekend. Just so we’re clear, even without a pandemic, my preferred weekend activity is not having one. Along with my part-time job as a reading paraeducator, I’m also a freelance copyeditor. Sometimes, I actually get an editing job. Last summer, I became the editor for a newsletter that comes out three times a year. I’m not yet clear on its publication schedule, so when I get an email with a dozen articles attached that says, “It’s time for another issue,” I’m surprised. That happened, and then a friend of a friend contacted me to edit a dissertation, with a week turnaround time. Yikes! I said yes and then I worked before work and after work and through a weekend to finish it early and go back to the newsletter.  

What’s more, my husband has recently gone back to his office two days a week instead of just on Wednesdays. So every Tuesday when he’s not at home, it feels like Wednesday. With changes at my day job, tutoring, PT,  myofascial release, achieving daily ExoSym practice, TWO editing projects, AND a husband who keeps leaving the house, well, I’ve been a little out of it.

The Glute Evolution

In November 2019, I was introduced to my gluteus medius when I tried out the ExoSym test devices. In August 2020, I started to feel them really come alive. Now, I can feel my glutes working more than ever before. 

My physical therapist continues to be impressed by my progress. At my last session on April 14th, he did some pretty “aggressive” stretching. When I got up from the table, I felt a bit wet-noodly. Like I really might need to sit down. That’s never happened before. But I couldn’t sit down because I needed to walk home and edit. 

The combination of the stretching, the yoga, and maybe even the myofascial release already–it’s all doing something. I feel like the bit more range of motion I’ve achieved in my hips (and the added stability with the back brace) is giving me an actual stride rather than an always-bent-at-hip-and-knee clomp, clomp, clomp. 

I’m using my glutes, you see. I can feel them contracting together. My backside and I have a whole new relationship. When I’m standing at the kitchen counter washing dishes, chopping vegetables, pouring something–anything that uses two hands–I am leaning my belly into the counter to hold myself up. This posture is obviously not great for several reasons. Now, I remind myself that my body can hold itself up without the counter’s assistance. I stand there and I chop up carrots and I feel my muscles holding me up. I remind myself not to cheat by resting my wrist against the counter. It takes a lot of concentration and effort to stand up tall and not cut off the tip of my finger, so it’s not an all-the-time thing yet.

But the weirdest thing is this: I didn’t realize the muscles weren’t working before. I’ve tried to articulate it previously, and I’ll do it again. My PT puts me in a modified plank and tells me to squeeze my buns together. I do, and I feel it. I’m doing the thing. But it’s like the volume was on low and I didn’t know it

Those of you who have full use of your hands: it’s like if someone told you to lift your hands, palms down. On a continuum, A is to do it with your fingers relaxed. Z is to do it with energy through your fingers, stretched out taut. If the goal is to do Z, you do your darndest and still only make it to about G, but you think you’re at an N or an M. You have no idea what an N or M feels like, let alone Z. It’s inconceivable that Z even exists. 

I know my glutes are still at the beginning of the alphabet, but it’s astonishing to discover the world of D, E, and F. I was doing yoga the other day, in my modified warrior one pose (holding on to the back of a chair). The muscles down the back of my bent leg were firing away. And I said, “Oh my god, my glutes!” so loud that my husband wondered if I was okay. Yes, just amazed.

Warrior One

The other morning I was doing my PT on the living room rug (as I have done for the last 44 days!). I was doing my side leg lifts with bent knees. These are hard. My glutes immediately start burning very strongly, and it takes a while for the burn to dissipate. In the beginning I was supposed to aim to get about a fist of space between my knees, and that was extremely challenging. It felt like an invisible thick rubber band was around my knees and I was fighting against it.

I’ve realized lately that the burn isn’t so strong, nor so immediate. And as I’ve said, my glutes are actually squeezing together. I know I’ve been getting better at these. 

So I lift my leg, and it just keeps going up. I’m shocked. I stare at the space between my knees, space that I’m creating (and maintaining!) under my own power. And this is my left leg (the weaker one). I had to call my husband over to come see. My hips really are loosening up. And maybe there really is something to tight and dried up fascia limiting mobility. I was lifting my leg up higher than ever before (at least in the last two or three decades) and it felt easy enough that I didn’t realize I was doing it. Like it kept going up all by itself, without strain. Do you know how weird that feels?

My glutes are evolving, but I don’t know if my core is. All this ExoSym work is supposed to come from the glutes and the core. So far, I’m not great at coordinating all this within a step cycle, but I do try to “squish” with each step. I don’t know if my core is getting stronger but it’s just not as obvious because I’ve always had a little more control over/awareness of my core than my glutes. Or if I still have a 2019 core instead of a 2021 core. 

There is still so much work to be done, so much tiredness, and a constant ebb and flow of pain from various sources. But continue to work I shall, with curiosity and gratitude.

And just so that last bit doesn’t sound too eye-rolly, know that there will be a fair bit of moaning and groaning, too.

“Watershed Moment”

March 31, 2021

When I arrived at my physical therapy appointment on March 31st, I had completed a short practice session with my back support and ExoSyms every day for two weeks straight. Wearing my ExoSyms for any amount of time on fourteen consecutive days was definitely a record.

When my PT called me back and I walked toward him (with back support and poles), he remarked that I was walking much straighter, my stride longer. Happy that he could see it, I explained that I could feel a difference after getting the front of the hip stretched, and that I’d been trying to maintain the looseness and incorporate the bit of longer stride into my regular gait. I also told him that I went hiking. And that I can feel my hamstrings more. One night I was sitting in bed and they were aching and seriously buzzing. Like, “Oh, hello, hamstrings. Where have you been? How nice of you to show up after forty years.”

He did the regular stretches and had me get up and walk again, with poles. “Wow,” he said. “This is a watershed moment.” Then he reassigned an exercise I’d been given and abandoned last year and enthusiastically extended my care plan until June. (It was up in March. You have to show progress or something in order to “earn” more sessions. With cerebral palsy, that is ridiculous. That’s our healthcare system for you.)

I’ve been doing my Yoga for the Rest of Us, and I think I’m actually improving. This reads as though it’s a natural outcome. I’m doing something and getting better at it. But that hasn’t felt true for me before.

I always hear how much stronger and flexible people become once they get into a yoga practice. How much better they feel. That’s the whole point, right? Those are the things that yoga is supposed to do for you. Not me. Somewhere around 2007, I remember using this DVD on a regular basis, but I never felt that the poses were becoming better, or that I was getting much of anything out of it at all. I figured that’s just par for the CP course. 

But getting a good stretch at physical therapy, feeling that openness at the front of the hip, feeling that longer stride, and then doing yoga while I still feel it, it’s really helping it stay. Recently I was doing my modified sun salutations, with the seat of a chair acting as a raised floor, and I was in that lunge where you’re supposed to have your back straight and look up. Instead of, you know, being hunched over the chair trying to sorta do a lunge. And I changed one thing, I’m not even sure what, and felt this oh moment. “Oh. I think that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. I think I actually did it that time.” I DO feel stronger. My hips DO feel more flexible. The poses ARE getting better. So, when I say I’ve been doing yoga and I think I’m actually improving, it’s really more like, “I have been doing yoga and I’m actually IMPROVING!?@$#!” It’s really weird. And awesome.


When I do my PT at home, and I tighten my core (on back, knees bent), sometimes my glutes and hamstrings join in all by themselves. More on the right, but sometimes even the left side does it. It was almost startling the first time I felt it happen. Like, woah, what’s going on in there? When I’m walking with my back brace and poles, and I really succeed at engaging the core and getting my pelvis under me, I can feel my glutes and hamstrings working. I can feel my shoulders lift up and back. For a few steps at a time, it feels so different and so much better. To be both upright and moving forward at once. It’s so functional.

The Outdoors, Sometimes Great, Mostly Not

March 26, 2021

My relationship with the outdoors is complicated.

About fifty years ago, my parents bought land on the Oregon coast. After they had four children, they built a cabin in those Oregon woods. A true cabin, with no electricity or running water. Dad painstakingly cleared a narrow path through the woods that eventually met up with a slippery, sandy, sometimes steep trail to the beach.

We all have good memories of time together at the cabin. But there is also a consensus that “Danielle doesn’t like the cabin.” Or “Danielle doesn’t like Oregon.”  For me, when I thought of Oregon/the cabin (which were the same thing in my young mind), I thought of gorse.

Gorse is a shrub with pretty yellow flowers. It’s also “an invasive species of worldwide concern” and is very familiar to me. Gorse is made of thorns. Gorse is made of thorns and tree trunks are full of sap. 

My siblings might have seen adventure and opportunity. For me, the Oregon woods were an unending obstacle course. And for a kid with cerebral palsy, an obstacle course isn’t fun. The springy, uneven, unpredictable forest floor, covered in twigs and branches and vines and rotting stumps and ferns and gorse. And what is there for me to steady myself with? Trees covered in sap. 

I did not explore with joyful abandon. Climb from stump to stump to stand tall atop the biggest one. Build forts. Leap across streams. The forest wasn’t accessible to me. It was an environment that was difficult to participate in, to be a part of.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that my most vivid memory of being in the woods around the cabin is of falling, and lifting my hand to pluck the gorse thorns from my sticky, sap-covered palm. I do have many good memories, too, but the strongest one is landing with a sudden rustle-thud that only that forest floor can produce, and assessing the damage. 

Even the ocean, when we finally made it down to the beach, wasn’t something I loved. Navigating sand is nightmarish, and the water was cold. Then I had to climb back up the steep, slidy trail. With wet sand in my shoes, chafing my toes.

It might only be because this picture exists, but I swear I remember looking over the edge of the red, flowered rim of that backpack as my dad slid, unintentionally, on his bottom down a section of trail. 1983.
But, look! I used a shovel. Notice how hard I’m holding on to it. 1983.
Apparently when I was ten, I could kind of do that one knee up, one down pose and not tip over. My toes dug into the sand, even when it was hard packed. That outfit, though. Rest assured that my socks matched my scrunchie. 1991.

I think the last time I slept at the cabin, I was in my early teens. When my sister got married there in 2009, and many of the guests went down to the beach, I did not even attempt to go. When I brought my own husband to see the cabin years later, he too, went down to the beach while I waited, safely seated, and imagined his trek through the trees.

When given the option to be outside or inside, I’ve mostly chosen inside. Inside is safer. Inside is easier. (Okay, both times I’ve needed stitches were inside incidents. Nowhere is safe. Just safer.)

But I also LOVE the forest. The roaring quiet. The dim coolness. The alive stillness. Trees feed the soul. You are compelled to breathe deep of the oxygen. Compelled to speak softly inside the majesty.

I don’t remember my first accessible hike. Not that there have been so many of them. Palisade Falls near Bozeman, Montana, in 2004, maybe. Then Glacier National Park, on a raised wooden walkway. Being able to walk beneath and among the trees without expending all my energy and concentration on staying upright is spectacular.

Sometimes I feel like I need to just be with the trees.

Glacier National Park, 2013

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, 2020.
No tree is too big for a hug.
My husband, he takes me to the trees.

Wanting to take me to the trees again, my husband found Roy’s Redwoods Preserve in Marin County. It was my second spring break of the pandemic, the second year we did not go on a weeklong trip, so a day trip we took. Now, it turns out that the name is a bit of a misnomer. While there are some redwoods in this preserve, we did not reach a place on the trails where I was truly surrounded and sheltered by them. No alive stillness for me that day. Instead, I experienced a different kind of aliveness altogether.

Friday, March 26, was my first real outing with both my back support and my trekking poles. I also wore really supportive shoes with a stiff sole. This was my first trail that was not officially deemed “accessible.” We chose Roy’s Redwoods Loop Trail over the Meadow Trail, because I wanted redwoods, not meadow. The trail started off fine, narrow, but flat. Soon, though, I encountered rocks jutting out of the packed dirt, and inclines. And inclines with rocks. I surprised myself by navigating up those uneven inclines and over those jutting rocks. “I did it!” I said, like a toddler learning a new skill. My husband stood near when I hesitated, ready to assist while I attempted different footings and pole placements, but, I did it all by myself.

I wondered how much harder it would get, and how much more I could actually do. And how I was going to get back down. This loop was not small and we were not planning to do the whole thing; was it already time to abort mission? But I wanted to see if I could get to the redwoods that were supposed to be on this trail, so we kept going. For the record, here’s its official description: “For a peaceful getaway, meander down Roy’s Redwoods Loop Trail.” My husband meandered peacefully, while I worked through the most challenging terrain of my adult life. The pictures don’t do it justice. I didn’t think to pause for photos on the hard bits because I was a little too busy not falling.

This is narrow. And not flat. And do you see that root?

Eventually, we emerged from the trees and found ourselves on the side of a hill. I looked down to my right and up to my left and realized I had hiked up a hill. We kept going for a while longer. We did not reach the redwoods, but we did end up meeting the Meadow Trail, so we did not have to retrace all our steps (some of which I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have handled going down).

Do you see how I’m in the middle of a HILL?

The Meadow Trail was easier, but we still had to hike in a downwardly direction. Down is much more difficult. Instead of leaning up into my poles and heaving all my weight onto them as I step, I had to place them down in front of me without falling forward with them. There were a couple of legitimately scary moments for me, but I made it down all by myself. I hiked. I’m a hiker.

We made it back down the hill. I am standing up tall in a circle of redwoods, with no weight on my poles.

I would not have been successful if we had tried to hike with me just holding my husband’s hand. I would have pulled his arm, hard, the whole time, and still not have been able to do it. Without the poles and the back brace, it would have been truly impossible. I would not have even attempted to climb over/around that first jutting rock, because I would not have been able to stay upright. Good poles, good brace, good shoes. I have found a combination of tools that give me what I need to be able to do what I cannot do alone. To my knowledge, no doctor has ever suggested back support for me. I have been given exercises to strengthen my outer hips, to combat my side-to-side shift, since toddlerhood. My entire life–Strengthen those hips! Don’t let that hip drop! It turns out that stabilizing my trunk helps so much, enabling me to focus on the glutes. Yes, I’ve been doing my glute exercises consistently for months as well, but I can’t help but wonder if we’ve been going about this whole thing backwards. Strengthen hips=stable core? Or stabilized core=ability to engage other muscles.

If you have cerebral palsy similar to spastic diplegia with hip drop, I say try some back support and see what it feels like.

I have accomplished many things I’m proud of. Not many of those are physical achievements. Physical success is not something I often experience. As I continued to navigate obstacle after obstacle on that trail, under my own power, I suddenly understood how doing physical things that are hard can be almost…fun. Meeting a challenge. Here is a time when the term “physically challenged” is appropriate. I was physically challenged by that hike, and I succeeded. And I liked it. I want to hike again. With more redwoods next time.