Tag: Physiotherapy

The Surgery Diaries: Banishing my hydrotherapy hatred

A couple of weeks after the surgery I was told that I’d be starting hydrotherapy as part of the recovery process and my heart sank. I’d had group sessions a couple of years before at my local pool and I hated it, although it was there that I finally did learn how to swim aged about 11.

At first I’d disliked it because I couldn’t swim without armbands and all the other kids seemed to be better than me which made me very, very sad. The physios there would make me work hard and then I’d have to go to school smelling of chlorine and answer questions from my classmates about where I’d been. They’d ask me how far I could swim, and I’d have to tell them that I could only manage five metres. I felt lame. I used to go to bed on Thursday nights and hoped that I would be too ill to turn up the next day.

Over the years though my Friday mornings in the pool paid off and I learned to swim not only on my back, but on my front AND under the water; the latter being my favourite way of doing it. Eventually I started to look forward to going, although I still didn’t particularly enjoy it. I liked it because it gave me a chance to meet other kids from other schools and everybody would try and help each other reach our targets when we could. I could see myself improving, but it got to the point where I couldn’t really take time away from school lessons to go anymore when the work became all about passing exams.

When I found out I’d be trying it again I felt really nervous because I was worried that I would have deteriorated, but at least these sessions would be one-on-one in a proper hydro pool rather than my local swimming baths.

Getting in the first time was hard work. I still wasn’t allowed to stand after the operations, so I had to slide from my wheelchair (with the help of my Dad) onto a bed/lift thing that lowered me into the water, and my feet   could barely touch the bottom once I was in. I was pleased when I realised that these appointments weren’t really going to be about swimming, but just about doing exercises mostly. The water was so lovely and warm, and it felt so nice just to be floating again while it look my weight, that I really, really looked forward to going. Luckily when I started my A-levels at school after summer was over; there was a gap in my timetable on the days that I was supposed to go so it was still okay. Schooldays felt long and tough at first so it was something nice to look forward to that helped me through my Tuesday morning.

A couple of weeks into the appointments I was allowed to try and take a few steps while I was in the water because it would support me and it wouldn’t be the same as trying to stand on my own or something. It was hard but It felt wonderful. Never again will I dread hydrotherapy.

The Surgery Diaries: Physio time

While I was in the hospital, the physiotherapists would come round at least twice a day to help me with my exercises and give me some new ones to do every now and then. As I’ve said before, I pretty much hated physio up until this point, but then everything changed.

If anything, I looked forward to them appearing at my bedside. It gave me something to do and someone new to talk to. It helped to break up the long days sitting in bed. I won’t lie. At first I was shocked by how hard I found it. Suddenly things that I’d been able to do just a matter of days ago seemed really, really hard. I remember one of the things that I had to do was slide each leg out to the side. Before the operation I’d been able to do around 10-15 of these before getting really tired. In hospital, I was struggling to get my count up to five.  Instead of letting this get me down, I used this as a challenge to try and make myself go one better every time I tried. I didn’t always manage it, but the times that I did it made a massive difference to my self-esteem and helped me feel like I was doing something productive from my bed.

My family were a huge help during all of this. Without them, I don’t think I would have done it as often as I did, or pushed myself as hard. Mum was allowed to stay with me at the hospital so we’d try and do a set every hour or so. Dad would do them too sometimes, but often he’d be there, crossword puzzle in hand, shouting out the clues to distract me from the discomfort, or motivating me to finish them faster so I could concentrate more. I wasn’t very good at crosswords then, I’m still not now if I’m honest, but my Dad is a whizz at them, even the cryptic ones.

Mum even said that when the time came for me to try walking again, she’d dangle money in front of me as motivation to keep going if she had to. I never put that theory to the test in the end, I don’t think she was ever serious about it anyway, but it made me laugh all the same.

When the Monkey Pole bar was fitted to my bed to help me sit up, I would pull myself up on it a few times just to build my arm strength up to make using the sliding board easier. It probably wasn’t the best thing for me to do looking back on it, but it helped me get stronger and that was all I cared about. I hated the slide board so much in the early days. It should have been my best friend because it helped me get from my bed into a chair, but I found it really hard to use so it just made me feel weak and very frustrated. By the time finished using it though, I could even get on and off it without help, so I guess something paid off somewhere.

Now, when I don’t feel like putting the work in (which is more often than I would like to admit) I try and think back to what the post-surgery, sixteen year-old me, would say to that. I think she’d call me lazy, and I think she’d feel let down that I didn’t continue with the hard work. So, I still try and push myself to work hard, both for my family and for myself.

The coffee table challenge

One of my stand-out memories of physiotherapy as a kid will always be the time that I had to walk across a coffee table independently. There was a point to it; it was so that I could get my agility badge at Brownies.

I remember being so surprised when I found out there was an adapted version for disabled people that the minute I came across it in my badge book with my grandma I decided that that would be the one that I wanted to earn next.

My heart sank when I saw that the above task was one of the things that I would have to do if I were to get it. The idea of having to walk on something that was raised about the ground with no one holding my hand really scared me (still does, if I’m honest) but mum insisted that it would be worth it.

We had a word with my physio at the time (who had to do the assessments and sign to say that I’d done everything I should) and they agreed to help. I still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when mum pulled the offending table into the middle of the room and told me that that was the right length for the distance that I had to go. It only got worse when they helped me climb up.

I’d like to point out that at this moment I made matters worse for myself by standing still for ages arguing the toss about why this was a bad idea – when really if I’d have just shut up and got on with it, it would have been over much faster (ahhh, hindsight). I’m pretty sure I even told the therapist involved I’d never forgive them for putting me through it. I said that more than once back then. Whoopsie.

So anyways, after what felt like a very shakey first few steps I made it all the way to the other end and felt slightly amazed that I’d actually gone through with it and not backed out. I got cuddles from mum and I even managed to pass. The brown and yellow badge took pride of place on my sash for a bit. I don’t even remember what the other tasks were now. It didn’t really matter after that.

The reason I’m posting about this I guess is because I still regard this as quite a big achievement. I was afraid of doing something, but I did it anyway (and without falling over, no less!) I think that sometimes I forget to view the achievement in the little things and I don’t appreciate my success anywhere near enough. I think it’s time I started.

What have you done to make yourself proud lately?

Learning to love physio

I’m not going to lie, learning to love physio was hard. I don’t mean trying to do the Sudoku puzzle in the morning paper hard, I mean trying to give up the food you love the most hard.

Over the years I’ve had loads of physiotherapists and I have liked them all. I just didn’t find the therapy itself particularly enjoyable from the age of around six or seven until I was became old enough to understand and appreciate the benefits . The reasons that I didn’t like it were, admittedly, my own fault, no one else’s.

I was stubborn and pretty much all my friends were able-bodied when I was growing up and, as far as I knew, none of them had to have physio. But I did. It made me feel different and I hated feeling that way. I’d dodge doing my exercises as much as possible and would row with my parents about it all the time. I’d shout, scream and cry about it but they’d still make me keep doing the stretches that I needed them to help with, but I’d always try and avoid doing the ones that were my own responsibility. Sometimes, I’d go weeks without doing any and other times I’d do a set every couple of days. In reality I knew that I should be doing them morning and night at least but that never really happened.

I used to dread the appointments with my therapists because I knew that I wasn’t doing as well as I should or could be. They never actually told me off or shouted at me for it, but deep down I always felt like I was letting them down. Really I suppose the irony is was that the whole time the person I failed and disappointed the most was myself.

Then at sixteen I had a complete attitude change. I had some surgery (much more on that later) which meant that I wasn’t allowed to stand for six weeks, after which there’d be another operation. If I didn’t buckle down and get on with it I knew that I wouldn’t get the most out of the opportunity that I was given and I didn’t want to waste it.

Mum, Dad and I embarked on a regime that seemed to feel like I was doing exercises every 30 minutes. It was probably more like every 90 looking back on it. At the time it hurt more and left me more tired than any I’ve ever had to do in my life. I used to mock complain about the amount I had to do, but secretly I found that I actually looked forward to it!

I found my inner competitive streak around that time, even if it was only with myself. I would try and do one more of each activity every time and when I could see the results it made me so proud that I didn’t want to stop. I knew that I was being proactive in helping myself and that made me feel good and is probably what got me through that rehab period, along with the love and support of those around me, of course.

After that I figured that I worked so hard there was no point in giving it all up now. While I admit that I probably didn’t do as much of it as recommended while I was studying, I’ve really tried to get into a habit now that I’m back home again. Yes, there are times when I slip, days I forget and some days that I make the choice to have a day off. Now though, I don’t dread the appointments, I look forward to them and the sense of achievement that they bring.