Surprise injections and more

So it turns out that the appointment that I had on Friday wasn’t so scary after all. In fact, I’d say it went rather well.

Quite a few things happened actually. We discussed maybe trying a new kind of splint as opposed to my callipers because they blister me so much, although I have to go for more appointments with a physio and someone who deals with splints to weigh up pros and cons first so I won’t go into details about that yet.

A few suggestions were made about things that might make my life in the kitchen a little bit easier. The occupation therapist who was there took my concerns on board and is going to do some research for me and try and get hold of some equipment for me to borrow to see how well it would work for me before I buy any. Again, I’ll let you know more when I do.

And, oh yeah, they gave me some more Botox in my left leg, which was an unexpected, (nice) surprise.

I’ve had this treatment done a few times as a kid, and once again last year as an adult and every time it has worked well for me. I mentioned to the doctor who was there (the same one who gave me the injections last year) that I thought it might be worth doing some more. She agreed that it would be.

“We can do it today, if you like” she said after giving it some thought.

“Er, yeah okay.” I said, a little shocked that that was an option.

And so we did.

I wasn’t expecting it but I wasn’t about to turn it down either.

“Bet you’re glad I came with you now,” Mum giggled as she helped me roll up my jean leg and gave me her hand to squeeze. Yes, I still like to do that. When I use to have them as a child, the would numb my legs  first with what they called “magic cream”. Now that I’m all grown up I don’t get that anymore, but I don’t think Mum minded me grasping onto her too much.

I personally don’t find that these injections hurt as such, it’s more like you’re being stung in my opinion, but it’s just nice to have someone there, you know?

Now that the deed has been done, it means that the intensive stretching has to start so that we can make the most out of it. So far, I think we’re doing pretty well at keeping on top of it, but it will be a couple of weeks before we’ll be able to tell what a difference it will make.

Let’s go, go, go!

Physiotherapy through my ages

Given that my Cerebral Palsy makes my muscles tighter than they should be I’m supposed to do a fair amount of physiotherapy to keep the stiffness at bay as much as possible.

It’s more than fair to say that my exercise regime and I have had an ever-changing relationship throughout my life. We’ve gone from loving each other to being arch enemies and back again more times than I would like to count. When I was a kid, it was the best thing ever. Most of what I needed to do could be done through playing. My appointments at the hospital felt to me like they consisted of climbing around on a big squishy play area, making things out of play-dough and the odd bit of stretching, but the pineapple juice and biscuits I got at the end more than made up for the last part.

Then, I started Primary School and realised that because I was in a mainstream school that none of my friends had to the boring stretch-y stuff, they only had to do all the playing parts so I refused to do them unless my parents made them more fun.

My mum spent hours making obstacle courses for me to run with a slide and a pot of bubbles at the end, and my dad would run them with me. I’d always win though because he was too big for the slide, but we’d share the bubbles anyway.

Being a 90s-kid I collected beanie babies and my very first one, a white and brown dog called Dippy, would be in charge of counting how many of the dull exercises I did each time by sitting in Mum’s hand. Dad and I did jigsaw puzzles and played hours of Polly Pocket to improve my fine-motor skills and give my left hand some you-will-do-what-I-tell-you training.

By the time I hit my teenage years this kind of magic wore off and I just plain refused to do any. This is something that I still regret to this day because I can’t help but think of how I could be even better than I am now if I’d put all the effort I put in these days while I was still growing.

When I was a kid I had a physio come out to see me once a week but now that I’m grown up and boring I only see someone  whenever I get enough pain to feel like I need it. I look forward to these times of year even if there is usually a fair bit of discomfort that comes with it. Now that I’m old enough to know how lucky I am to still get access to this service I try to grab the chance with both hands, even if the grip with my left one is a bit suck-y. I’m at this stage again (the culprit this time is my left knee). I now have a new list of things to do I don’t mind it because at least I know that I’m still trying to help myself keep walking for that bit longer every time I do. The tasks may not be as fun anymore, but, as far as I’m concerned, you’re never too old for juice and biscuits after all your hard work.