My mobility, it seems, is not just my business. In the last couple of weeks 'you're moving well' has become the opening gambit of friends, colleagues, strangers who have heard of me, shopkeepers in my high street, health professionals who know me, and a few others not in any of these categories.
On a couple of occasions, people have looked openly surprised. Smiling. A minor medical miracle strolling into a meeting room, standing watching a gig all night in The Caves, wandering round Scotmid nonchalantly, daring to cross the road against the lights, springing off the bus without hanging onto the guard rail, no longer sitting by the right hand aisle in the cinema....
What few see of course, are the clumsy orthotics, the daily grind of physio, the twice weekly biodex machine hammering me to hammer my quads, the visits to the psychologist, the (largely) hidden skin graft scars, the ongoing pain in my knee and ankle, meetings with lawyers, discussions with HR about sick pay, the angst of trying to do a full time job effectively with all this other rehab stuff, and the fatigued collapse at the end of the day from sheer bloody mindedness in making all this happen.
I am not cured. I cannot run. I can't yet attempt a Munroe. I'm still not back in the traffic on my bike. But I am far further on that anyone thought possible. Some would call this a miracle. Lucky. High quality NHS results. But actually this is now all down to physio and hard graft. My physiotherapist. Her assistant who operates the Biodex machine. And me. Collectively we are taking on the world. And winning. And if there's a moral to this story, its simply that.
Folks - if you are told to do your physio or related exercise, do it. Don't put it off for another day. Don't be frustrated by slow progress. Or lonely in your endeavours. Or angry about 'why me?' Or think someone else will do it for you. Just get on with it. Because the results are not just for you. They're for everyone else around you who is just itching for your success.
On a couple of occasions, people have looked openly surprised. Smiling. A minor medical miracle strolling into a meeting room, standing watching a gig all night in The Caves, wandering round Scotmid nonchalantly, daring to cross the road against the lights, springing off the bus without hanging onto the guard rail, no longer sitting by the right hand aisle in the cinema....
What few see of course, are the clumsy orthotics, the daily grind of physio, the twice weekly biodex machine hammering me to hammer my quads, the visits to the psychologist, the (largely) hidden skin graft scars, the ongoing pain in my knee and ankle, meetings with lawyers, discussions with HR about sick pay, the angst of trying to do a full time job effectively with all this other rehab stuff, and the fatigued collapse at the end of the day from sheer bloody mindedness in making all this happen.
I am not cured. I cannot run. I can't yet attempt a Munroe. I'm still not back in the traffic on my bike. But I am far further on that anyone thought possible. Some would call this a miracle. Lucky. High quality NHS results. But actually this is now all down to physio and hard graft. My physiotherapist. Her assistant who operates the Biodex machine. And me. Collectively we are taking on the world. And winning. And if there's a moral to this story, its simply that.
Folks - if you are told to do your physio or related exercise, do it. Don't put it off for another day. Don't be frustrated by slow progress. Or lonely in your endeavours. Or angry about 'why me?' Or think someone else will do it for you. Just get on with it. Because the results are not just for you. They're for everyone else around you who is just itching for your success.
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