Met my new Physical therapist

The hospital therapist sent me home with certain exercises to do.  The instructions said to do ten to twenty reps of each exercise, two or three times a day.  Therapy is a killer; my daughter remarked that she noticed me walking briskly into the bedroom at exercise time, and then limping out slowly when I was done.  Yes, therapy hurts.  But it has to be done if I want good results from my surgery.  
My regular therapist was on vacation last week, and the temporary guy, Dave, was here twice.  The first time he came, I was bleeding profusely and he decided to let me off the hook.  The second time, he went through the moves on the exercise sheets with me, and said I was doing fine.  
So, today I met this new sadist therapist, Gary.  
The exercises I've been doing fifteen times, twice daily?  I now have to do three sets of twenty, four to six times a day.  ARGH!  
I know he intends for it to be painful, because he wants me taking the maximum amount of pain pills I've been given as often as permitted, and he wants me to call the doctor's office and get a prescription for even more Hydrocodone than the prescription calls for ("I don't want you running out on the weekend.").  
On the positive side, he seems like a nice guy.  And I will admit he managed to get some moves out of me that I hadn't been able to do on my own.    
Wish me luck.