I went to my first session with a physiotherapist today. There may not be a second. Not unlike many hospital visits, I left in worse shape than when I walked in, unaided.
My physio seemed sweet, engaging and interested when I first arrived. Disregard that nonsense about 'first impressions,' She lulled me into a safe place then toyed with me.
'Lift your leg up; and out to the side. Good Mr Crumble, but we don't have too much lateral movement in the hip do we.'
'Well no, that's why I'm here.'
'Does it hurt when we extend?"
"Yes, it does."
That was like a secret signal. She set about me like a psycho toddler going postal with a rubber bendy toy. I tried to muffle my whimpering. That spurred her on. I watched my legs flash before me in a blur as she worked her way through Volumes 1-4 of the Nadia Comăneci workbook on things you shouldn't be able to do with your lower limbs. She stopped as abrubtly as she started.
"I think I need to refer you to one of our specialist physio's."
I shivered; she smiled.
At that point I more or less resigned myself to a wheelchair and bib for life on a fluids-only diet. If a referral to someone who specialises in involuntary contortion is my next treatment plan a wheelchair sounds like a positive alternative. None of us like to be drama queens and while it is only a dodgy hip, I wish we could just get to the hip resurfacing chat without all this preliminary box ticking of, "if it hurts, refer."
I'll book an appointment with the Ninja Physio then and try and be brave. I just can't wait.