So I had my second round of physio yesterday. I've a lovely student called Sarah who seems out to cause me help and harm in equal measure. They totally deserve the title pyhsioterrorist. So last weeks post was more a disappointing test of mobile phone blogger (misspellings and an aimless post prove it was junk and only for live blog the agony).
So first round of physio focused on the usual assessment, supposed information gather forms that are actually revenue capture methods and some basic sit to stand work, which I can't do at home because all my chairs and sofa are lounge types that don't make you sit like your back in school.
Also due to forgetfulness (read laziness) I am having physio twice a week to try to get some progress.
This week, after last weeks easy lure, started with some pelvic thrust motions that where only faintly embarrassing while sitting but became hilarious when Sarah got me on the bed and felt my pelvic muscles while I did the pelvic thrusts into the air. The motion is to help me stand without having to swing my arms, but all I could think was "don't fart" as that really would have lowered the tone. Why is it when in such delicate positions your lower bowels decide its music time? I am however a master of my bowels (for the moment) and wind did not come to pass.
The next trick was to suck in my gut to tense my abdo muscles. This is to give me central balance for walking and involved me sucking in and up on my gut (I'm fairly svelt in that position). This has the disaster that my diaphragm couldn't expand, causing me to hold my breath. Sarah decided this was the point to remind me to breath. Lady physio, I would love to, but currently you're crushing my gut into my lungs and I can't do two things at once anyway. Oh good, I need to because I should be tensing those muscles while I walk. I thought it was made clear in the Magna Carta or something that men can do no more than one task at once. I am though reliably informed by a friend who does dance that this pelvic muscle give gents moves in the bedroom (ladies). Of course, it would help if I could breath on my way to said bedroom.
Finally we did some calf streches to stop the uncontrolled judder my legs suffer when I lower my heal to the ground. I wasn't previously aware of the horrific pain that could be cause when a physio digs their fingers into the top branches of a calf muscle and pull either direction while you lower you leg but I shall be writing to The Hague to see if the Geneva convention says anything about this vile torture. Not ashamed that at this point Sarah may have heard the crack she was a terrorist more than once, but only after I corrected her hand grip to match her supervising physio. The fact I managed to walk home is perhaps a miracle.
Oman side note, everyone I tell I'm getting orthotics makes an ouch sound and gives me sympathy. One girl asked it they would be screwed into my legs. I hope not, I like my legs how they are. Also, no word on if I will have them for Christmas, I'll be feeling all kinds of festive with those things bending my feet into position........
