Rough
Treatment
By
Dominic Horton
In
last week's edition I wrote about Joe Mallen, the chainsmith from
Cradley Heath, who used to make chain by hand in the middle part of
the last century. Given the physicality and rigours of Joe's job it
would be no surprise if he suffered from a bad back during his time
and I would imagine that it was an occupational hazard for him. The
bad back that I suffer from periodically has got progressively worse
recently and it has lead me to seek physiotherapy treatment from the
NHS. But given that the cause of my discomfort is not due the kind
of physical exertions that Joe Mallen undertook, but rather by
sedentarily sitting at a desk for long spells, I feel like a bit of a
fraud.
 |
| Jolly D daring to sit in Tom Corneronly's seat in the Flagon & Gorses - it didn't last long, when Corneronly came in the pub Jolly D moved immediately, out of respect. |
I
first experienced the back problem 10 odd years ago while I was
playing for Greenhill FC. I took a throw-in during a match I felt a
sudden pain up my back and in my shoulder and consequently I couldn't
raise my arm above waist height as it was agony. I told the team
manager, my associate Harry Gout, that I wasn't able to take
throw-ins because of the pain and that I was going to have to be
substituted as I was in great discomfort. His predictably
unsympathetic reply was, “you'll be ok, just get someone else to
take throw-ins. You're not coming off, just get on with it.” We
won the game so I suppose Gout was justified in his decision, though
it was hardly reminiscent of Jose Mourinho.
I
sought treatment and the physiotherapist, Lucy, told me that I have
an incredibly stiff back and in her opinion it is due to being
desk-based all day. She explained to me that she was going to
manipulate my spine, which would hurt but it would do me good. She
was right on both counts. Lucy is only a wee strip of a woman so I
don't know where she found the force from to bash my back around so
vigorously but her frame belies her strength. Lucy said that she is
going on holiday for two weeks but another physio at the practice,
Jerome, would continue the treatment. At the next appointment Jerome
walked into the room and he was a muscle bound man mountain of 6' 5”
and 17 stones and he said, “I am going to give your spine a good
working to loosen it up.” I thought, “Oh, f*ck, if little Lucy
generated that much power this fella is going to kill me.”
Jerome
started to manipulate my back and I was bracing myself for a
battering from the big man but it turned out that he was a gentle
giant and instead of the force ten gale I was expecting I was given
what seemed like a pleasant massage. I could have kept silent but I
knew he needed to exert a bit more pressure on my back for the
treatment to be successful so I said, “Lucy was a little more
robust when she manipulated my back so you can put a bit more clout
into it if you want to.” This was a mistake. His first thrust on
my back winded me and I thought he was going to break my ribs with
the pressure. I thought that I was going to walk out of the surgery
as flat as a cartoon character that has been run over by a steam
roller.
 |
A sinister looking Neddy La Chouffe outside the Flagon
& Gorses
|
Now
that I no longer work for the bank I don't have the luxury any more
of private health care where you can pick your physiotherapy
appointment date and they even pop the kettle on for you when you
turn up. This time my GP told me that I would have to wait weeks for
an appointment but not to worry as one of the GPs in the surgery is
an acupuncture specialist and that will be of great help to me. But
the receptionist informed me that all acupuncture slots are full and
she told me to call back in a month.
The
woman at physio department said to me on the telephone that it would
be eight weeks before a therapist could see me and she gave me
details of the appointment and she said she would send me a
confirmation letter. I said you don't need to confirm things in
writing as I have it down in my diary. The woman said no, she has to
send me a letter; I said just pop me an email then, it's cheaper than
the post but she said no, it has to be a letter. One wonders how
much money the cash strapped NHS wastes on sending out letters in
this digital age where in most cases people are happy with an email
or text message, which are considerably cheaper to send (not to
mention better for the environment as no paper is used and there are
no transport costs.)
 |
| Geraldine Strathdee, Clinical Director for Mental Health, NHS England. |
The
woman called back later in the day to say there had been a
cancellation and that I could have treatment first thing the
following day. I thought I had better see the physio with a clear
mind given my previous experiences as the treatment was painful
enough without being groggy headed after a few tipples the night
before. But being Magic Monday I had already planned to meet Neddy La
Chouffe, Jolly D and the rest of the crew for the usual start to the
week routine at the Flagon & Gorses. It will be fine, I'll take
it steady I thought. Which in my defence I did.
I
drank loads of water before I went to the appointment and
all in all I didn't feel too bad. But the surgery waiting room was
roasting and immediately I felt dry mouthed and dehydrated. I started
to emit a light sweat and the booze terrors kicked in. I couldn't
look at any of the other waiting patients in the eye. I
glanced up to the TV, which like most doctor's practices does not
show normal programmes but broadcasts short health information films
and the like. Ominously the screen had facts and information about
boozing from Drink Aware and it told me that alcohol can lead to
suicide, self-harm or psychosis: top of the morning to you too.
A
recent article by Geraldine Strathdee, Clinical Director for Mental
Health NHS England, in The Guardian stated that a third of all
GP visits are by people with a mental health condition so scanning
round the waiting room I decided to pass the time by having a game of
guess the mental health patient. There were six people in the room
including me so it was perm any two from the remaining five. A fella
with a beard, a sullen demeanor and shoddy, unpolished shoes looked
like a prime candidate (not that I am stereotyping as anyone can have
mental health problems of course) but before I could assess the other
runners and riders the physiotherapist popped her head around the
door and shouted, “Dominic Horton please.”
The
physio was an attractive woman in her 30's, Laura, and her sunny
disposition made my booze terrors melt away into the spring day.
Laura asked me a series of questions and put me through a number of
tests to determine the problem and to make a diagnosis. She opined
that there is more to my back issue than sitting at a desk as given
all of the exercises that I do daily to loosen my spine up it should
not be as stiff as it is. Laura said she wants to me to go for an
x-ray, a blood test and possibly an MRI scan to investigate further.
The booze terrors came back with a vengeance and
my mind ran wild with the possibilities of what is causing
the bad back.
 |
Jose Mourinho having bubble trouble, by request of
Toby In-Tents.
|
As
is usually the case the whole of the appointment was taken up by the
physio's examinations so I didn't receive any treatment. I asked
Laura if she could manipulate by back, even if it was just for ten
minutes or so, but she said, sorry time's up. And I have to wait
three weeks to see Laura again as she is going on holiday which means
I'll either have to bite the bullet and pay for a private
physiotherapist or get my dear son Kenteke to watch a Youtube video
of how to manipulate a back so he can perform the procedure on me.
For payment of a bag of sweets of course.
My
comfy sofa doesn't do my back any good at all and Lucy the physio
advised me years ago that hard seats and beds are more helpful than
soft ones. That is the very reason why I spend many an hour sitting
on the firm settles in the Flagon & Gorses, it is not for
enjoyment but purely for curative reasons.
©
Dominic Horton, April 2015.
Lowlife
is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
Email:
lordhofr@gmail.com
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