Leg hurts.
First thing is to ignore the pain.
A few weeks later it still hurts. Ignoring it isn’t working.
Blast. So, eventually, call the physiotherapist. Not any physiotherapist but
the one on-site at work (not that anyone there does any sort of manual work).
On the internal phone: “Can I book an appointment with the
physiotherapist, please?”
Physiotherapist: “Yes. Why?”
“My leg hurts”, pause, “when I kick.” I can hear laughter
from my colleagues in the office “I do Karate” I add. Technically, this is
untrue. I haven’t been to a club for years but I like to do (I’d like to say
practise but do will do) the occasional kick and punch. Just in case I’m attacked.
Which is unlikely in
So the appointment is made.
I’ve never been to a physiotherapist. I expect them to have
a quick look and then refer me to a surgeon to have the painful thing
(somewhere in the joint) cut out. But no. At most I
expect to roll up my trouser leg whilst they have a quick look at the knee.
It’s not like that at all.
Near the end of the working day I cross buildings to get to
my appointment.
The physiotherapist is waiting for me. She takes a history
then tells me to put on my shorts.
“But I haven’t brought any (!)”. I never expected to be
inspected in detail. She tells me not to worry and just whip off my trousers.
It turns out that that day I’d put on one of my more
presentable underpants. Thank goodness.
So there’s this rather attractive physiotherapist kneeling
in front of me, groping my knee, whilst I’m in my undies,
shirt and tie (nice silk one from Harrods). I’m desperately trying to think of
boring subjects. “Computers, Good. Hard disks, RAM,
No. No. Floppy disk, ROM”.
Anyway, the examination passes without major embarrassment.
Afterwards she give me her
diagnosis but also tells me I don’t stand properly. Apparently I’ve been
standing wrong all my life and no-one has pointed this out. I find this hard to
believe as I seldom fall over but it’s true.
She tells me how to stand properly. This involves rolling my
joints outwards and tensing my abdominal muscles. It’s exhausting. It also
involves clenching my, er, cheeks as if I’m holding a £50 note
between them
I’ve actually always used a wallet in my jacket pocket and
prefer smaller denominations. I’m also not sure what would be the reaction if I
had to hand over the note, to say, a barman or shop assistant. So I just
pretend that I’m holding a £50 note there, not that I ever would in real life.
I have further appointments where I make absolutely sure to
take shorts. And I practise standing properly.
Eventually, after a few years, my posture improves and my
leg stops hurting. Whilst it’s improving I notice my height changing depending
on whether I’m standing properly or slouched.
I also notice definition in my abdominals.
The downside is that I was slouched when I was measured for
some suit trousers. I was clearly distracted, all those cloth options, and must
have relaxed my muscles. The result is that a splendid pair
of trousers are slightly short, sometimes. Theses things matter to a
chap.
I’m now concerned about the
© John Chaudhry 2002