PHYSIOTERRORISM!

At present I’m parted from my latest hairy horror Esme. This is because of something called plantar fasciitis. You know what they say folks:

“To those who have more shall be given”!

What it doesn’t say on the tin is that you’ll get more of what you already have – Great if it’s holidays in sunny climes or as much naughty but nice food to eat – Not so great if it’s more things to cope with from the disability department. Still cope we must and eventually after doing a long walk for charity I found I could hardly walk at all!

I’d had pain under my heels for quite a while so it was foolhardy to go on a long walk but I wanted to do something useful and at the same time get out amongst other people in a different environment. However afterwards I needed to see my doctor who promptly recommended me for physiotherapy.

The man, (George not his real name) said:

“I’ll set up this exercise programme for you”.

That wiped the smile off my face because, having parted with my Labrador who is now living it up in another part of town, I thought I’d have even more time to listen to music and read and above all write (perhaps my greatest love of all).

Anyone who knows me well realises that exercise apart from walking is like spinach to a child – Ugh! Apart of course from when it comes to the exercising of both tongue and hands. People can’t afford to phone me unless they have two jobs and have won the lotto and my hands get plenty of exercise on this keyboard here in the gnome office.

However, worse was to come. He invited me to lie down on this couch (shades of the trick cyclist asking me what sort of childhood I had). Then he twiddled, tapped, flexed, knelt on and pummelled my back and feet. (he knelt on one leg while he almost broke the other)! In a breathless and crumpled heap I staggered to my feet afterwards as he breezily asked in a cheerful and educated voice:

“How’s the pain? What would you give it on a score of one to ten”?

“A thousand and one”,

I cried, remembering then that that was an advert for a carpet cleaner of long ago! Of course the pain in my feet was a bit better because everywhere else was agonisingly painful!

I began to resent my Labrador who is having a great time chewing up her ragga, playing with neighbour’s children and visiting her carer’s work place and generally being adored by all and sundry while I am here being taken asunder by one!

As I left I couldn’t help thinking:

“How can a person want to do this for a living? Manipulating people’s feet (some of whom probably possess smelly ones) and jumping all over unsuspecting victims all day leaving them bruised and battered and only fit for bed afterwards. What a way to earn a crust! However he redeemed himself yesterday by thinking I’m partially sighted! Will I go back next week? Might as well because the intense pain of plantar fasciitis which resembles having broken glass ground up into your heels and the loss of my beloved Labrador will make the physioterrorism worth bearing if only so I can rid myself of the first and reunite myself with the second. So George, you’ve got a blind date for next week, where will it be? The pictures! The beach or the disco! What with these feet and these eyes! No. Perhaps I’ll settle for a nice lie down on your couch. I’ll just lie back and think of Esme!