THOU SHALL NOT WILT...
The first put off is the physiotherapy table. You lie there like a gutted fish while your therapist pummels you- painfully. All your ooh, oww, ouches fall on deaf ears because not only has he heard it all before(yawn) but he has got his mind on other important things- like how to get a high paying job where he doesn’t have to stand on his feet all day, never mind that he has to get you back on yours...
AND THIS TOO SHALL PASS
The question uppermost in your mind is-will I ever get normal again? There is no point pestering your therapist about the range of your joint or rather the lack of it. Chances of your jumping off the table and running the hundred meters are so remote as to be non-existent. The body takes its time and both you and he know that you will not climb Mt. Everest once you are fully fit. So just grit your teeth and bear it. Be happy with your snail’s progress- eventually you will reach that goal....
DO NOT COVET YOUR NEIGHBOR'S MOBILITY...
All around you other patients seem to mobilize their joints with consummate ease. You grunt and groan but your joint is as stiff as a leg of mutton in the deep freeze. You watch sick with envy as the old crone in the next table laughs and jokes with his physiotherapist as he bends his leg with the ease of a circus acrobat. Your therapist has a face like Thor ready to swing his hammer at the unyielding joint. No doubt he is totally zapped by your lack of progress and every time he pushes, your leg reluctantly yields one zillionth of a centimeter. Don’t give up- just don’t look at anybody else. They might be better in their physical range but your IQ is way out of their range-Score!
SLOTH IS A SIN...
Your idea of physio is lying on the table while the poor sod of a therapist massages you gently with something aromatic and ever so carefully gets the joint back to full working order. Unfortunately, that scenario exists only in Spas. The joint is a stubborn thing which requires military tactics- no scented candle approach will cut it. So your therapist pushes with all his might and bellows at you to ‘RELAX’. This is war and to win it you cannot sit on your butt. You go home like a tightly coiled spring and instead of unwinding in front of the T.V. you hop onto your exercise bike and pedal through the pain. Who knows? Once this is over Tour de France beckons...
THOU SHALL NOT KILL (YOUR PHYSIOTHERAPIST)
God knows you thought about it often enough- in fact, let’s be honest, there is nothing else you think about. He is the equivalent of a one man torture chamber and as he pulls, pushes and pummels, all you think about is clonking him one on the noggin. Better sense prevails and you lie there stoically enduring the pain. . Murdering him will only land you in jail and there you will be subject to far worse than physiotherapy....
THOU SHALL NOT SWEAR...
There is no point- of even muttering under your breath. Physiotherapists need to pass only two main criteria to qualify in their profession. They must have strong upper bodies with which they can wrestle stubborn joints into mobility and they must be hearing impaired so that the patients curses can literally fall on deaf ears. Otherwise, surrounded by scenes from Dante’s Inferno they would not last long in this profession. A simple “How are you” elicits an endless outpouring of unbearable agony from long suffering patients. Every push brings out a colorful epithet or a groan which falls on deaf ears. So save your breath or vent at pretty Polly at home- your physio just isn’t listening...
GLUTTONY IS A SIN...
Since your appetite remains unbridled by the calamity that befell your limb; this is the time to do some serious reigning in. No, not of the leg – that’s not going anywhere in a hurry but your gargantuan appetite that increases as rapidly as your mental anxiety. As a kid your P.T teacher dinned into your head-input should be less than or equal to output. You did a physio on him (turned a deaf ear!)and guzzled coke and munched on those chips and in spite of never lifting a finger, you still never put on an ounce blowing his input=output theory to bits. But now it comes back to haunt you. Whatever you eat snakes its way into your hips and thighs making the therapists job that much harder. Most therapists are thin since they are doing all the hard work. You lie there contorting your face while emitting high pitched squeals and though you might writhe in pain it just doesn’t burn calories.
So just zip those lips and keep the input=output theory of your P.T master live and kicking, at least till your legs take over- the kicking bit anyway...
And finally,
DO NOT QUESTION THE LORD’S WILL...
There is no point turning your face heavenward and asking God in an anguished tone-“Why me?” If you listen closely you might hear a deep rumble along with the words “Why not?” and if you are lucky a bolt of lightening will illuminate every brain cell and help you understand the futility of such questions. Your knee is blown; you are a dumb patient to that smart ass surgeon, a pain in your therapists butt and a pathetic sight to all around you. But, as the Good Book says “And this too shall pass...” Till then, just groan and bear it!
Nimmou Nilakantan
