Dreadful Nonsense

Brilliant! Blogging is catching! You wait for years for people to notice how fabulous it is to blog every day, boring strangers and friends alike with your tired observations about Angel and your links to things other people have known about for years, and then all of a sudden everyone you know is leaping atop the bandwagon and riding along side you. On blogspot.

Yep, two of my friends have started blogs, and both today informed me of their existence. So I've trawled through them both, obviously primarily looking for references to my good self, and I found them both wanting slightly. I think more about me is what both of them need to pep up their readership and get the party truly started. I'm not going to link to either of them just yet until I get permission off both lovely people that it's okay to do so, and also I'm not going to link to either of them until they both get their acts together and work out how to link to me. And while linking to me, say nice things about me. Really nice things. Obscenely nice things, but things that are, none the less, absolutely true.

I went to see my new physiotherapist today. We shall call her Rose West, or Rose for short, because I am convinced that this is all some ridiculously complicated ruse to try to kill me. She was insistent about the fact that I'm no longer experiencing the same degree of pain that I once was, and that we should be seizing the moment (and our own ankles) to try to break through to the other side, and from there have wondrous flexibility and range of movement. I tried explaining to her, firstly by using words and facial expressions and later by using just basic screams of pain, that I am actually experiencing quite a good deal of pain, with or without the epidural injection. And yet. Rose still continued to push, press, pummel and stretch things that really shouldn't be bending that way.

She was nice, this lady, honestly she was, but she took the position of pointing out to me everything that I do wrong. Like apparently I walk all the time while adopting the posture of walking downhill - apparently I lean in to the pavement. I laughed, because honestly I didn't realise that, and she looked at me as if I'd just suggested stealing a pair of crutches off another patient and beating the patient to death with them. (Which I hadn't. And anyone who says I did is lying.) I find that laughing at things like that is the easiest way to cope with these new realisations, because otherwise the only other thing I can do is lie on the floor in the fetal position and cry myself to death. I know I walk with a slight limp lady, it's not an affectation. It's a way of coping with the pain.

It was the moment when she had me lying on my back, feet on the bed, knees raised up, and she shoved her hand underneath the curve of my back and told me to arch it that I realised I was in serious trouble still. I can't curve my back. How weird is that? I had no idea I couldn't do that. It's not really something I've been in the habit of doing every now and again, so I didn't know I couldn't. It's a horrifying thing, telling your body to do something, and your body utterly refusing to go ahead with the simple instruction.

So Rose has given me five exercises that I have to do, and told me I don't have to do the things that the consultant told me to do, which I have been doing faithfully every day since last Thursday, as apparently they're really of no use to me at this point in time. So I'm going to do all those exercises and prove to her that I'm best and she's nothing. And Mrs Bishop texted me to point out that all physios are actually just failed doctors and that Rose is obviously just bitter and twisted and hateful.

This entry was posted on 07 April 2004 at 1:45 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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