The welcome was warm indeed - and so was the water in the hydrotherapy pool. I was armed with my new swimming costume (not that glamorous, but then who wants glamour in a hydrotherapy pool) and my similarly new microfibre
I bought the latter at the suggestion of one of my friends at Nomination Whist who recommended it on the basis of its light weight and superb
absorbability - and I was delighted to find one in a rather fetching teal colour at half price. Consulting the Eldest of the Darling Daughters on my purchase, I was pleased to hear that the Eldest Granddaughter would surely give her own endorsement of camping
towels, having used them successfully to mop down an entire tent on an extremely wet Duke of Edinburgh expedition. I am sure the towel will find mopping me dry quite a doddle by comparison.
In the physiotherapy department at the local hospital, we patients tend to label ourselves, not by name, by the part of the body which is to receive treatment. I, therefore, was The Shoulder while my companion in the pool was The Knee.
Earlier, waiting to be called into the changing room, I had a pleasant conversation with The Back who thanked me for treating her condition with sympathy. She told me that most people, when she explained her problem, immediately related at length the trials
of their own aching backs which she didn’t find particularly helpful. I made a mental note to remember this in future and was really pleased I hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways or I might just have told her all about Mr B’s bad back...
When taking a seat in the waiting area of the physiotherapy department, it is a good idea to avoid the comfortable looking armchairs against one wall. This is the wall separating
the corridor from the hydrotherapy pool and it is hot, hot, hot. A friend of mine, accompanying me on an appointment with the Delightful Declan (before he moved onto pastures new) was so overcome by the heat that when I returned to the waiting room at the
end of my physio, I found him sleeping like a baby. Waking him up was not at all easy. On future visits we made sure to sit on the less comfortable chairs.
were only two of us in the pool with one physiotherapist between us. I was in the deep end, being taller than The Knee by an inch or so. Her exercises involved lots of walking and making cycling movements while I had great fun with a selection of paddles,
weights and floats. Apparently one of us hadn’t turned up - I wonder what he / she was, maybe A Hip, or An Elbow, or, even, A Shoulder with whom I could exchange notes on progress.
My very sweet physiotherapist (almost as delightful as Declan on first acquaintance) was keen that I didn’t wear myself out too much in my first visit so after twenty minutes I was back in the changing room where the camping
towel proved its worth in getting me dry in no time. I was informed that I should take it easy for the rest of the day and was excused my usual exercises for the day. The Knee left the pool just after me, even though it was her second visit, because she was
having a hard time. We will meet again, in the pool, next week we told each other. We will be Pool Friends for the duration of our treatment, bound together by our shared experience.
I was sure it wouldn’t hurt if I did a bit of shopping while I was in town. I had a parcel to post, dinner to buy. It was a beautiful day, too, so perhaps I could stroll along the prom, prom, prom and breathe in the fresh sea
air? I had no idea how tired I would feel, travelling home on the bus.
Next week, I will go straight home from the hospital and have a bit of a zizz in the
armchair before re-entering the fray of Daily Life. In fact, I explained to Mr B (who was keen to hear how I had fared) I would in future do as I was told. Mr B was, not surprisingly, quick to comment:
“That’ll be a first...” he said.