… I wanna get Physio. Let’s get into Physio.
OK, so I’m more than paraphrasing the great Olivia Newton John to introduce my latest Friday rant. And why not, memories of that video inspire me to the gym. Ahem.
And so to the task at hand. Physio. It’s a right of passage for us weekend warriors. Locker room conversations, held at more than an appreciable volume (we can all hear) – classical tales of heroic battles against the great Achilles, or worse, chiropractic intervention at an almost cellular level.
I’m not suggesting these practitioners are corrupt. A good physiotherapist is golden; a good chiropractor has the Midas touch. And they can patch you up and make you shine in time for that all-important race. For some, it’s the difference between walking and not. And in delivering that, against the odds, there is skill, commitment, and dedication to which I tip my cap with unquestionable respect.
But in between lies myth and murkiness, in my opinion. Lazy work, and worse still, the failure to see the patient, instead of the money. A 50-year-old with a gammy knee, roll up roll up!
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there, we just need to persevere”. And lying back, thinking of the next tale of muscle-bending hardship, too many of us accept the beating without question. It’s like any profession really – there are good guys, and total cants.
My best experience was with a chap at a private hospital. My left leg, unaided by its twin, was accelerating towards the earth and the connecting ankle made a snap decision to turn right on impact. Cue six-to-eight physio sessions at great expense.
But after some good chats, a lot of examination of moving parts, show-and-tell with plastic feet, various physical challenges and a few home-truths, my physio and I were almost ready to part company.
One week with Alan (my private physio), and I had my own wobble board at home, with a range of stability and strength exercises to do at home. After three weeks, he was good enough to suggest maybe I could fly solo. And I did.
I saved some money. His powers are legendary.
My advice is this: if after the first consultation, they don’t know what shape the mung beans are that you had for dinner, then they haven’t heard your body talk, your body talk.
Renny Rambles 