Physiotherapy: Part II…

I am determined to ensure that today’s physiotherapy session goes well. I’ve religiously done the exercises I was give to strengthen my quads. I’ve also set a phone reminder to pack shorts for my appointment so there will be no repeat of the ‘boys escaping from the barracks’ incident, to badly paraphrase the great Alan Partridge. 

But I am late back from training the previous night and I am tired. I am trying to negotiate a looming Hapkido grading with only one functioning leg. Most turning kicks are out and I’m struggling to base correctly for throws and launch correctly for falls, and my footwork is compromised so I’m having to adjust forms and strikes to compensate. This is difficult but I’ve had injures before and worked around them before. This is no different.

The next morning, though, I am late up, so I throw on my clothes and quickly grab my shorts and end up arriving late. My child-looking physiotherapist is lovely about my tardiness, though, so we head to a treatment room. He’s chatty, I’m chatty. This is going well. I take off my trousers, grab my shorts from my bag and put them on. He assesses my damaged leg. This could be a triumph of treatment sessions. I may win an award.

Then, about three minutes into the session, I notice the aroma of cat urine. We are currently having building work done in the house and cat has gone a bit mental, so she’s pissing in strange places as a form of protest. I now realise, far too late, that she’s decided my shorts are an acceptable target.

I know what’s happened and I think my physio has noticed the aroma. Sadly, I can’t be sure. This means I can’t casually mention the cat piss smell. If I say what has happened, he may think it’s a lie and I’m covering up for middle-aged incontinence. I say nothing. I lay there. I do as I’m told.

When the session is finished, there is a diagnosis. It’s a torn meniscus. It's surgery if it gets really bad, but he suggests yet more leg strengthening exercises and careful injury management. My physio then excuses himself for several weeks and explains he has other commitments. We book an appointment for a month’s time.

I fear the ‘other commitments’ may be a ruse. I think he may really fear I’m some sort of weirdo who exposes his bollocks then pisses himself at physiotherapy sessions for his own entertainment. In reality, I’m just a bloke who’s been humiliated by a vengeful cat. 

This is a new low.