The compensation claim is a long slow process. I have little to do with it but turn up for the odd appointment. It is one of these that brings me into contact with The Professor. This gentleman, from an earlier era, is to write my medical report that will go to the truck driver's insurance company. It is not appropriate for my own consultant to write the report - for obvious reasons. Thus neutral and expert advice is sought. My union is paying for this. The fee is well over £100.
First problem. How to get there. The private clinic is on a useful bus route. The bus drops me close to the entrance but on the wrong side of the road. There is no safe way to cross. The road is four lanes wide. It is too far to hobble with my crutches all the way to the lights. I spend several minutes waiting for a lull, the go for it. Safely on the other side I meet problem number two.
The clinic is at the top of a very steep hill. There is no courtesy vehicle. There is also only partial pavement. I am forced onto the road more than once. This is a place for cars and of course, their drivers. In sweltering heat I hobble up the hill. It takes around 15 minutes. Ridiculous. I mention the idea of a courtesy vehicle to the receptionist. And the danger of the road crossing. I meet another victim who also complains. I guess nothing will change. Us carless folk are strange creatures in this place.
I have around 25 minutes with The Professor. During this time he shows me no empathy, no sympathy. He is curt to the point of rudeness. He disagrees with my descriptions of my experiences. And in a couple of bullet points he wipes out my future. I am deeply shocked. No one had said any of this stuff to me before.
I will never walk properly on rough ground. So that's the end of hill walking then. Even the beach is going to prove difficult. I will never cycle up mountains again. If I dare to, I will suffer. I have had a 'devastating injury'. I should not have positive expectations. My previous life is over. He is less clear on arthritis. Its a possibility. And if it occurs it will hurt. My suggestions of other sports, such as sailing. also prove pointless. Skiing may be possible, he says. but he doubts I'll get ski boots to fit. He has no advice on footwear. He advises me to end my medication. Side effects he says. And with that, a few gentle twists of my ankle, and a couple of questions about pain and interests, I am ushered out.
As I wait for my taxi to work I am in tears. I've been living in a dream world. My working assumption is that as long as I do my physio, I'll get back to some level of normality. What have I been thinking? Such head in the sand behaviour! But there is no other way of doing the physio. It has to have a positive end. Otherwise, why get out of bed in the morning? Why go through the pain and hassle?
But I am also furious. Furious with The Professor. I paid, though my union membership, for that very expensive consultation. Messages such as these are always difficult to pass on. But there are ways and means of delivering them. Clearly The Professor's skills are technical rather than social. He may be a wizard with a hacksaw but a counsellor he is not.
At work, I weep a bit more. The next day too. But four days on I am back as an ostrich. I spend 2 hours at physio and a further 2 at the gym and pool. If I can get out from under a 32 tonne truck, The Professor should be no problem at all.
First problem. How to get there. The private clinic is on a useful bus route. The bus drops me close to the entrance but on the wrong side of the road. There is no safe way to cross. The road is four lanes wide. It is too far to hobble with my crutches all the way to the lights. I spend several minutes waiting for a lull, the go for it. Safely on the other side I meet problem number two.
The clinic is at the top of a very steep hill. There is no courtesy vehicle. There is also only partial pavement. I am forced onto the road more than once. This is a place for cars and of course, their drivers. In sweltering heat I hobble up the hill. It takes around 15 minutes. Ridiculous. I mention the idea of a courtesy vehicle to the receptionist. And the danger of the road crossing. I meet another victim who also complains. I guess nothing will change. Us carless folk are strange creatures in this place.
I have around 25 minutes with The Professor. During this time he shows me no empathy, no sympathy. He is curt to the point of rudeness. He disagrees with my descriptions of my experiences. And in a couple of bullet points he wipes out my future. I am deeply shocked. No one had said any of this stuff to me before.
I will never walk properly on rough ground. So that's the end of hill walking then. Even the beach is going to prove difficult. I will never cycle up mountains again. If I dare to, I will suffer. I have had a 'devastating injury'. I should not have positive expectations. My previous life is over. He is less clear on arthritis. Its a possibility. And if it occurs it will hurt. My suggestions of other sports, such as sailing. also prove pointless. Skiing may be possible, he says. but he doubts I'll get ski boots to fit. He has no advice on footwear. He advises me to end my medication. Side effects he says. And with that, a few gentle twists of my ankle, and a couple of questions about pain and interests, I am ushered out.
As I wait for my taxi to work I am in tears. I've been living in a dream world. My working assumption is that as long as I do my physio, I'll get back to some level of normality. What have I been thinking? Such head in the sand behaviour! But there is no other way of doing the physio. It has to have a positive end. Otherwise, why get out of bed in the morning? Why go through the pain and hassle?
But I am also furious. Furious with The Professor. I paid, though my union membership, for that very expensive consultation. Messages such as these are always difficult to pass on. But there are ways and means of delivering them. Clearly The Professor's skills are technical rather than social. He may be a wizard with a hacksaw but a counsellor he is not.
At work, I weep a bit more. The next day too. But four days on I am back as an ostrich. I spend 2 hours at physio and a further 2 at the gym and pool. If I can get out from under a 32 tonne truck, The Professor should be no problem at all.
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