Dreadful Nonsense

I went back to physiotherapy today, not because I’ve relapsed at all – my health is still as ridiculously good as it’s been since the beginning of the year, touching wood and all that – but because I feel the panicking need to build on this good health in order to sustain the progress I’ve made so far. I’m so determined not to go back down the road I’ve just struggled up from that I’m over compensating slightly, so instead of joining a normal exercise class, I thought I’d double check with My Glorious Physio Who I Love Very Much just to make sure I wasn’t doing badness that could lead to No Good.

When I rang My Glorious Physio Who I Love Very Much last week she said that she does an exercise class every Tuesday in the hospital where I used to go for treatment, and would I like to pop along to that? I immediately said yes, because firstly I’d be able to bask in the glory of the admiration of My Glorious Physio Who I Love Very Much as I’m still making good progress and secondly because chances were I may very well not be the slowest in the class, it being a rehabilitation hospital, with most - no, ALL – people there being a lot worse off than me. It’s not a competitive thing, you understand, but simply the fact that at least they’d all understand if I started wobbling and fell over at some point.

So it was with a happy heart that I tramped up the hospital this morning, tracksuited up to the nines and ready to go. What a glorious bunch we were. You’ve not lived, breathed and thanked your lucky stars until you’ve done an exercise class with people who’ve had strokes, aneurysms, been involved in serious car crashes or swimming accidents, or had bits of them cut off. My Glorious Physio Who I Love Very Much would be yelling “RAISE THOSE ARMS IN THE AIR!” while marching on the spot and half of our class could only raise one, gamely pulling up their paralysed other side. Halfway through, when we were lying on the ground doing crazy things, the lady beside me turned around and introduced herself. I introduced myself back, and she said “I’m sorry, I won’t remember that.” I smiled, and nodded, because what’s the right response to that? “I’ve got short term memory problems,” she continued, “I won’t even remember being here this afternoon!” And with that she laughed. I think I continued smiling and nodding. Because there really is NO response to that.

I found one half of the class ridiculously easy and unchallenging, and the other half almost impossible and scary – I always forget that physio constantly reintroduces me to the fact that there are a lot of things that I still can’t do, and that I’ve still got quite pronounced weakness on my left hand side that freaks me out when I come across it. But these classes are so brilliant and entertaining and awe inspiring that I’m going to keep going back and jumping about for a few weeks yet.

Oh, and I’ve given up smoking. Yes, again. Yes. Shut up.

This entry was posted on 22 March 2005 at 6:29 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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