A Medical Miracle

Posted on April 4, 2012 by


The doctors got sick of me wah wahing about my knee and sent me off to see a physio. When I got there he had me sit up on the reclining chair while he yanked my knee this way and that way. None of it caused any great pain. He got his measuring contraption out and calculated some angles. Then he went back to manipulating my leg this or that way.

Finally, he got me to put a finger on each side of my healthy knee and showed me how the muscles on that side engage. We repeated the exercise on the dodgy side so that he could show me that the muscle on the inside was being rather lazy. ‘Nicely discerned’ I thought ‘but what does it all mean?’. As if reading my mind, at this point he confidently declared, “This is all coming from your ankle”.

I was sceptical. He went on to proclaim that I must’ve sprained my ankle at some point in the past. I looked at him blankly as I’ve never sprained either of my ankles. He insisted and suggested it might’ve happened on a big night out but however it had happened that my ankle had experienced a “trauma”.

I started to feel uncomfortable, like I was seeing a not-very-skilled psychic who was desperately fumbling in the dark. I didn’t know how to tell him that he was completely off base.

While I was trying to work out how to extract myself from this increasingly uncomfortable situation, the physio kept speaking with gusto about the trauma to my ankle and its effects. He was demonstrating how it would have impacted on my walking. As he shuffled past me lifting one hip right up in the air, I thought, ‘well now you’ve done it; I’m going to get up after all this and walk smoothly out the door making an idiot out of you’. “Or” he went on, “it might mean your right foot goes out on an angle like this”.

“It does!” I almost yelled at him. My mind was reeling. My right foot has angled out for years. A decade at least. Occasionally over the years I’ve looked down and thought, ‘look at that odd pair down there. If I was lost in the desert, I’d be easy to track. Of course, I’d die of skin cancer in about 24 hours given my almost-albino status. Perhaps I could bury myself during the day and travel at night. Yes – I’d use the stars to navigate! But how would the rescuers find me if I’m buried during the day..?’ Consequently, I am yet to visit Uluru for fear of dying buried in the desert.

The physio went to work “unfusing” my ankle. Basically, this involved him wrenching my ankle back and forth repeatedly. He kept getting me to turn over,
“on your left side”
“on your back”
“on your right side”
“back on your left”

Round and round I went, like a stick of yiros meat.

None of it hurt until he massaged my calf. At that point I wanted to punch him in the head. Five points for self-control as all I did was grunt angrily at him.

After a total of about 10 to 15 minutes of treatment, he told me to get up and have a go walking.

Both feet faced forward. In a quarter of an hour he cured an injury at least a decade old 🙂

Speaking of hurts, if you haven’t already, answer my poll:

Posted in: LimboLand