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.
